


I Didn't Believe in Fate

by onemoreoffkeyanthem



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:29:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemoreoffkeyanthem/pseuds/onemoreoffkeyanthem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time I see the guy I have black hair, am 16, straight, and he has blood dripping down his face and hands and is pinching at his nose.<br/>The second time I meet him my hair is significantly longer, I’m still 16, in denial, and playing the piano.<br/>The third time I meet him I have really short white hair, am 17, questioning, and am hiding from my family.<br/>The next time I meet him I have red hair, am 18, considerably more gay, and probably the biggest idiot ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time I see the guy I have black hair, am 16, straight, and he has blood dripping down his face and hands and is pinching at his nose. I am sitting inside a coffee shop at a table with a napkin dispenser. I’m not a completely terrible human being, so I grab somewhere around 4 and hurry outside to where he seems to be deciding what the best way to open the door with bloody hands and a still bleeding nose. “Uh,” I say, because I’m great with words and want to get his attention. He looks at me and I shove the napkins towards him. He takes them and begins to clean himself up as much as he can while still pinching his nose. “It helps if you tilt your head forward, I think.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, probably trying not to get too much of his blood in his mouth. 

“No trouble,” I reply. “Do you wanna clean up in the bathroom? I can open doors or whatever so you don't get blood everywhere?”

“That would be great,” he stares at the floor, probably because I told him to tilt his head forward. 

I open the door and hold it for him. We go back to the bathroom. I open the door and get him more paper towels. 

He throws away the blood-soaked napkins and stands over the sink until I hand him the towels. “And you should pinch the bridge of your nose more.” He winces as he does, and I notice a bruise forming. “Uh, mind if I ask what happened?” I ask the shorter boy. 

“I got punched,” he answers nonchalantly, as if it doesn’t matter. I catch his gaze in the mirror and he sees my worried look. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

My eyes widen even more. “That’s even worse. Are you okay?” I ask, as if I didn’t just meet him. 

“I’m fine. It’s fine,” he sighs and looks back down at the sink. “I think it stopped bleeding. He pulls the paper towels away and dabs at his nose a few times to make sure it stopped. He then looks up at his reflection and grins. “Cool. It looks like a horror movie.”

I can’t help but smile at that, no normal person would say that. Maybe ‘what a mess’ or ‘wow I look dead,’ but not ‘cool.’ But it was exactly what I was thinking. He had blood all over his hands, the sink, and smeared over the lower half of his face. “It really does.”

He smiles at me in the mirror. “Thanks, for helping me. I really appreciate it.” 

I nod, “no trouble.”

“I’m Frank,” he introduces himself. “I would shake your hand, but that’s kinda icky.”

“I’m Gerard, and I appreciate your discretion,” I reply, and he laughs. 

He turns on the water and begins to scrub the drying blood off of his hands, and I get more paper towels to wipe stray drops of blood off of the sink. “You really don’t have to do that,” he says, while grabbing paper towels, dampening them with water and wiping the blood off of his nose, chin, and lips. He has nice lips. What? What does that even mean? I’m not gay. Nope.

I shrug. “I just wanna help. I mean, I can’t just leave the guy who got punched in the face after just giving him a napkin, like ‘good luck. Have fun.’ Well, not without feeling a bit guilty and looking like a jerk.” 

I glance up at his smiling reflection and bright, eyeliner rimmed, hazel eyes. I return the smile before looking down again. He continues to wash his face until there’s no more blood, but definitely a bruise coming on. “Alright, I think I’m done,” he decides, throwing away the paper towels. “Thank god I didn’t get any on my shirt.” 

I glance down at his Misfits shirt and grin. “That would suck, it’s a nice shirt.” 

He nods. “Did you wanna get coffee? Or did you already get something?”

“I left a cup on a table so I’ll either have half of a cup left or they’ll have cleared it off,” I answer, opening the door and leading him back out. “It’s still there!” Yes, coffee. 

“Alright, you can sit down, I’ll get a coffee,” he tells me, going up to the counter. 

I plop down at the table and take a sip of my still-warm coffee, waiting for the boy to come over. He’s the first person I’ve talked to here. I mean I did just move here a few weeks ago but still. Though, my antisocialness is helped by the fact that I’m homeschooled.

He walks over to my table, sitting down across from me with a cup of coffee between his hands. “Thanks again.”

“No trouble,” I say between sips of coffee.

“So, I’ve not seen you in school and stuff before…” he trails off.

“Oh, I just moved here, the other week and I'm homeschooled,” I explain, looking down at his hands on his coffee. They’re really lovely hands. What does that mean? I just want to draw them. Yeah, that’s it.

“Oh cool, I’ve lived here my entire life.” 

I nod and my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and read the text from my mom. “Shit. Uh, I have to go. My mom…”

I look up and he nods knowingly. “Alright. It was nice talking to you.”

“Bye.” I pick up my coffee. I begin to walk towards the door whilst texting my mom with one hand. 

“See yah later,” he gives me a little wave as I walk out.

I flash him a smile and then hurriedly walk home. Maybe I was supposed to be home a few hours ago. Oops. 

I finish my coffee on the way home, and toss the cup in a trashcan. Mikey answers the door, “Mom’s mad.”

“I know, thanks,” I go inside to get yelled at.

She’s not really angry so much as worried and annoyed. “You almost made me late for work,” she finishes her rant, before kissing my head, calling out a goodbye to Mikey and leaving. 

I go to my room as soon as she’s gone, thinking about Frank. 

I may or may not spend the next few hours sketching his hands. I draw blood dripping through his fingers, his hands under running water, his hands folded on the table top, his hands holding a coffee cup. 

Wow, am I creepy.

I should get over him now, while I barely know him. Wow, that sounds like I’m romantically interested in him. I’m not. I’m straight. I mean, I haven’t had a girlfriend but.  
I shove the sketchbook to the side of my desk, as if it was symbolic for getting him out of my mind, or immediate thoughts. The issue is that sketchbook was new and I can’t waste the rest of the pages by avoiding the sketchbook. I’ll just deal with everything concerning Frank later. 

I doubt I’ll ever see him again. I didn’t get his number and I’m not going to be in school with him, as I’m homeschooled. 

I go to bed trying not to think about him.

***

The second time I meet him my hair is significantly longer, I’m still 16, in denial, and playing the piano. Mikey’s doing something with his bass at the music shop, there are keyboards, and I’m bored. I begin by playing short little songs, but Mikey’s taking forever and no one is yelling at me for playing, so I play a song I wrote myself. It’s called “Cancer” and I wrote it after my grandma died. I don’t sing the words that go along with the song because I really don’t want anyone to hear them, but the song itself is fine.

I nearly have a heart attack when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around, expecting Mikey to finally be done. Instead, I see the boy from months ago at the coffee shop. 

He grins widely at me as soon as I turn around, and I can’t help but smile back. Though, I’m groaning internally because I had just gotten over the fact that I’d probably never see him again and now we’d have to talk about my song. “Frank?” I ask, before he hugs me quickly.

“Gerard! I was just getting a new guitar and you’re really good. I’ve never heard that song before,” he spews at me excitedly, and I can’t stop smiling. He looks rather different. For one, he’s less bloody and bruised, his hair is bleached on the sides of his head and longer in the front, and he’s wearing more eyeliner. 

““Uh, yeah, that’s ‘cause I wrote it. You play guitar?” I ask stupidly, seeing as how he has a guitar case on his back. I look down, probably blushing a lot.

“Yeah, I have for a few years,” he answers casually, getting really excited again when I say it’s an original song. “That’s amazing! Does it have words? Would you mind playing it again for me?” He looks up at me with wide eyes and a crooked smile and I blush harder, hiding behind my messy black hair. 

“Uh, sure,” I answer nervously, turning back t the keyboard. I glance at him and he smiles reassuringly at me and I begin to play, then sing softly, gathering courage as I go on and get into the song.

“Turn away,  
If you could get me a drink  
Of water 'cause my lips are chapped and faded  
Call my aunt Marie  
Help her gather all my things  
And bury me in all my favorite colors,  
My sisters and my brothers, still,  
I will not kiss you,  
'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.”

I’m actually singing at a level that he’d actually be able to hear now, but I still avoid looking at him. 

“Now turn away,  
'Cause I'm awful just to see  
'Cause all my hairs abandoned all my body,  
Oh, my agony,  
Know that I will never marry,  
Baby, I'm just soggy from the chemo  
But counting down the days to go  
It just ain't living  
And I just hope you know

That if you say  
Goodbye today  
I'd ask you to be true 

'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you  
'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you”

I take a moment to look back at him after I’m done. I bite my lip and he just smiles sadly at me. “That was amazing. What’s it called?” 

“Cancer,” I say simply, and then add, “It’s about my grandma. She died a while ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he frowns at me. “Were you close?”

I just nod. 

“Well, I owe you a song, yeah?” He pulls his guitar out, and plugs it into a readily available amp. This music shop is great. 

“If you want to,” I shrug, but smile; I really want him to sing and play for me.

“This one’s called ‘I’m Not Okay (I Promise),’” he tells me, strumming a few times to warm up, then starting the song. 

“Well if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say.  
I never want to let you down or have you go, it's better off this way.  
For all the dirty looks, the photographs your boyfriend took,  
Remember when you broke your foot from jumping out the second floor?”

He really gets into it and is really fucking loud. I’m surprised no one is telling us to stop. I’m sure the only reason is that he’s really good. He can really sing and play. 

“I'm not okay  
I'm not okay  
I'm not okay  
You wear me out

What will it take to show you that it's not the life it seems?  
I've told you time and time again you sing the words but don't know what it means  
To be a joke and look, another line without a hook  
I held you close as we both shook for the last time take a good hard look!

I'm not okay  
I'm not okay  
I'm not okay  
You wear me out

Forget about the dirty looks  
The photographs your boyfriend took  
You said you read me like a book, but the pages all are torn and frayed.”

He suddenly becomes really quiet, and god this is amazing.

“I'm okay  
I'm okay!  
I'm okay, now

But you really need to listen to me  
Because I'm telling you the truth  
I mean this, I'm okay!  
Trust Me

I'm not okay  
I'm not okay  
Well, I'm not okay  
I'm not o-fucking-kay  
I'm not okay  
I'm not okay”

He finishes and grins at me, after putting everything away. “That was great, Frank. I really love the song. Did you write it yourself?”

“Thanks, and yeah,” he looks back up at me. “So, what are you doing here?”

“My brother is getting a new bass guitar or something,” I respond. “I dunno why it’s taking so long.”

Then Mikey finally appears, blushing furiously for some reason. “Gee! Sorry, that took so long, we can go now.” It doesn’t even occur to him that I could be talking to someone. 

“Alright, great,” I smile once more at Frank and give him a little wave before leaving with Mikey. 

I go home to think about the boy for a while again. I’m never going to get over this guy. Huh, that sounds gay. Not like that. I just- I actually have no clue. This time I only draw him 8 times until the next time I see him, rather than the 13 times before this meeting.

***

The third time I meet him I have really short white hair, am 17, questioning, and am hiding from my family. There are days when I just really don’t want to deal with anything or anyone. I don’t want to talk or listen. I don’t want to do anything, but I also want to do something. My family members were trying to start a conversation so I put in my earbuds, turned music on, gathered my art supplies, and left the house.

I had no clue where to go. Where’s a good place to just sit and draw? Finally I come across an old looking cemetery. The living tend to avoid cemeteries, so I should be fine. Plus, there’s the added bonus of an eerie atmosphere and possibility of ghosts. 

I wander around the gravestones for a while, gravitating towards the older portion of the graveyard. It’s old enough that many of the headstones are worn and hard to read from the elements, a couple of mossy stones are even cracked in half and leaned against each other. There’s not another person to be seen. 

There’s a huge, gnarled, old tree that I decide to sit under, more to lean against than for shade, because the sky is completely covered in clouds. Really it is the perfect autumn day. I’m glad I decided to come outside. 

I open my book bag and take out my sketchbook and pencils, getting distracted by looking around before even opening my sketchbook. The slight evening mist rolling in is really beautiful; I can imagine ghosts lurking in it. I finally open my sketchbook, but end up lighting a cigarette before starting to draw. I take a drag, then lean my head back against the bark of the tree and exhale, watching smoke curl away from me, dispersing into the mist. Maybe I’ll draw smoke. Maybe I’ll draw something dead. I can’t decide. 

The peace is beautiful, my music is great, the cigarette was much needed, and I am finally ready to draw. I stamp out my cigarette and pick up a pencil. Shifting around with my sketchbook on my lap. I’m over my drawing Frank phase, so I begin to draw ghosts. I focus intently on my drawing, not breaking concentration one bit too look up. 

I feel something on my shoulder and I jump, trying to turn to look and distance myself from whatever touched me. I’m shocked to find Frank, in black skinny jeans, a Metallica shirt, and a denim jacket, grinning down at me. I blush furiously and take my earbuds out , then straighten myself up, but remain seated. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologizes, still smiling. My first coherent thought is, well there goes my not drawing Frank stage.

“Oh, it’s alright,” I shrug, smiling a bit, and hoping that I wasn’t blushing anymore. “I wasn’t really scared.”

“You jumped and kinda yelped,” Frank smirks and I glance away. “I think you were a little scared.” 

“Shut up,” I mumble and he plops down next to me, nudging me with his shoulder good-naturedly.

“What are you doing in a graveyard?” he asks at length. 

“Hiding from my family and drawing,” I reply honestly, but tilting the sketchbook away from him so it’s difficult for him to see. “What are you doing?”

“You know, visiting my mom,” he shrugs.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say to the whole dead mom thing, but I’m terrible about comforting and stuff. 

He shrugs again, as if it doesn’t really matter. “Can I see the drawing?” he changes the subject.

“Oh, sure,” I answer reluctantly, holding my sketchbook out to him. 

“That’s really cool, Gerard,” he compliments, beginning to smile again. “I love ghosts. I love autumn too, it feels kinda spooky, you know?”

“Yeah,” I nod, knowing exactly what he means. “It has the perfect atmosphere.”

“Especially in the cemetery,” he adds, grinning at me.

“Definitely a bit more scary when you’re standing over hundreds of skeletons,” I reply, smiling back.

“That’s a bit morbid,” he pauses, “and true. Nice.” For a second I thought I completely creeped him out. 

“Yeah, well. It’s the truth. We’re sitting on corpses,” I continue, closing my sketchbook and slipping it back into my bag along with my pencils. I pull out my pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a drag before continuing. “You can’t just ignore the truth because it’s ugly and the lie is easier.” He edges closer to me when I smoke, and I wonder if I should’ve offered him a cigarette. I take another drag before holding it out to him, offering him a smoke without actually speaking.

“True,” he replies, before taking the cigarette from me and fuck he makes smoking art. He holds the cigarette and inhales through it in such a way that proves he knows it’ll be the death of him, and yet he needs and loves it. Maybe I’m reading too far into it. Maybe it’s just that he’s attractive, and smoking does something to improve his already fantastic jawline. He then passes the cigarette back to me and we’re sharing. I try not to think creepily about how his mouth was where mine is. I try not to think about how I can almost taste him. Shit, I’m not as straight as I thought I was. “But, don’t exaggerate the truth. We are not sitting on corpses. We are sitting under a tree that’s roots are surrounded by coffins and skeletons.”

I pass the cigarette back to him, watching him blow smoke into the mist. “It’s a lot easier to just say we’re sitting amidst the corpses.”

“Nah, just creepier,” he decides, dropping the cigarette and stamping it out with the toe of his boot. 

“I guess,” I shrug. 

We sit in silence for a good amount of time, just appreciating each other’s company and the weather. Then I turn on my music, giving him the left earphone and I have the right. We listen to music for a long time, with no more interaction then Frank saying, “You have great taste in music,” and me thanking him and smiling at each other briefly. As well as the occasional comment on how great a song is.

After over an hour I check the time. “Shit, I have to go home before my mom plans my death,” I say, turning off the music and standing up stiffly.

“Aw, alright,” he gets up as well, stretching lazily. “It’s getting dark anyway.”

“Yeah, it is,” I comment, looking at the now colorful clouds, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “It was nice seeing you again,” I add awkwardly.

He smiles at me, “Yeah, it was.” 

He begins to open his mouth to speak again, but I’m already saying, “Alright, well, I’ll see you later.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I am mentally beating myself up, because now he isn't going to say what he was gonna say. What if it was important? 

He nods; looking slightly disappointed but gives a little wave. “Yup, bye.”

I walk away, hoping he isn’t watching me leave, because I trip over nothing twice. I walk home in the fading light, thinking about him again. I kick myself for not getting his number or something this time. Shit, I bet that’s what he was gonna ask for before I cut him out. God, I hope I run into him again.

I draw him at least a dozen times. At first he’s the only thing on my mind and it’s distracting me from my actual life, but he ends up slowly slipping away from my thoughts as I realize I’ll probably never see him again, so it’s best to stop thinking about him.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time I meet him I have red hair, am 18, considerably more gay, and probably the biggest idiot ever. No wonder why no one else is out, it’s the storm of the century. I press myself against the damp brick wall of a building that had the slightest overhang that kept me halfway out of the pouring rain. 

If the saying is it’s raining cats and dogs, it’s raining rhinos and elephants, or something fucking huge. I’d walked out of the house and it was drizzling lightly. Naturally I was wearing a jacket, so I thought it wouldn’t be an issue and I kept walking. Now it’s pouring harder than I can remember it having ever poured and I’m soaked to the bone. 

Generally I don’t mind rain, but it’s cold and I’d rather not die of hypothermia. I can’t imagine why I had decided it was important enough to get coffee in this storm. I mean, I was out of coffee, but it wouldn’t have been so bad to wait a few hours so I wouldn’t die. 

I give up on my crappy shelter because I’m soaked and keeping the back of my head out of the rain wasn’t making anything better. So, I trudge back into the rain. At least it smells nice and earthy. I shiver violently as I walk and I wrap my arms around myself to try to keep warm. 

As you can imagine, it doesn’t work. There’s something about being completely soaked in the chilly weather with a sharp breeze where you can’t get warm until you completely change your setting and clothes.

I’m miserable, all this for some coffee that I didn’t need until tomorrow anyway. I groan and shudder when something hits my back. It wasn’t too big or painful, but where the hell did it come from? I look down at the small ball of ice and then at the sky as another one hits me on the shoulder. Now it’s hailing. Great. 

I begin to run as hail begins to pelt down everywhere. I cover my head with my hands and soon the backs of my hands sting. I’m going to die of hypothermia and hail. If it isn’t possible to die of discomfort, because wet skinny jeans suck, along with other wet clothes, but skinny jeans, ugh. 

There’s a building with a small canopy over bench. Of course there’s another person under it, but I’d rather talk to someone than get attacked with sky ice, though it's only marginally better. I join the other boy under the canopy soon enough, though I wish I was under it earlier, or maybe inside. Except all of the businesses are closed. Apparently they had the common sense to check the weather before leaving the house. 

I scramble onto the back of the bench, because the rain and hail would still reach my legs if I sat normally. I turn to look at the boy that’s looking at me. “Mind if I join you?” I ask, while sitting down next to him.

“Nah, I was getting bored anyway,” the boy answers. He smiles crookedly at me, and then his eyes grow wide, “Gerard?” I return the smile, taking in his hazel eyes, dark floppy hair that sticks to his forehead with rain, and new piercings. “Nice hair.” He pats my red head. 

“Frank!” I push my damp red hair out of my face and shiver, crossing my arms over my chest to try to keep warm. “Nice piercings. Why the hell are you out in this weather?”

“Cigarettes,” he says quickly, and I nod, understanding perfectly. “And you?” He speaks enthusiastically like a puppy that just wants to be loved. 

“Coffee.” I respond, my teeth beginning to chatter. He doesn’t seem to be nearly as soaked as I am. I’m dripping a lot, where as he just looks damp. “Do you think it would be better for me to take my jacket off or would I die of hypothermia faster?”

“You do realize that it’s probably the worst weather ever and you should’ve waited for the storm to pass…” He then ponders my question, biting his lip slightly, drawing my attention to his lip ring. “I have no clue. Uh, if you’re cold,” he doesn’t finish his sentence, but he moves a bit closer to me.

“Yeah, well, you did the same thing, so you can’t criticize me.” I lean into his warmth tentatively; I don’t want to overstep boundaries, but then his arm is around me and I can’t help but lean into him. 

“It was kinda more than just wanting a smoke,” he admits quietly, before quickly trying to change the subject. “God, you’re wet.” He moves away a little and I frown. He’s taking his jacket off. “Take your jacket off. Take it off.” 

I do as I’m told, though not without question. “Why?” Then he has his arm around me again. He doesn’t mind my slightly damp shirt, though he’s mostly dry. His jacket is actually waterproof or resistant anyway and he has it over both of our shoulders as much as possible. Our proximity doesn’t even seem odd; despite the fact that we’ve only met a few times. Technically I have known him for a few years. Plus, I want him to like me. It’s something about his big eyes, I think, or maybe just the way he speaks. It’s just the entirety of who he is, and I want him to like me.

“What was it then?” I ask after we’re resituated. 

“Oh, you know, my dad kicked me out,” he says casually as if it doesn’t matter, as if it’s something of a joke. 

I frown. “Oh, do you need a place to stay?” I immediately offer my own house to him. 

“Well, yeah, but I don’t know where-“ he pauses briefly when I turn to look at him. “Oh, do you mean? Yeah, if it wouldn’t be a problem. I mean, I don’t really know you but I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“It definitely wouldn’t be an issue. I’m happy to help. It’s better than being out here all night,” I lean against him again. “You can borrow some clothes and stuff too.”

“If it’s okay with you, that would be amazing.” I feel him shake slightly and I pull back to look at him. He’s blinking quickly and breathing weirdly, but a tear rolls down his cheek and I don’t hesitate to pull him into a hug. 

“Definitely. God, stay as long as you need. I can’t imagine,” I stop myself before I say something insensitive or make it worse. He buries his face in my shoulder and I rub his back. 

He pulls away suddenly and I frown. “Sorry, I- I don’t know why I…” His cheeks flush and he wipes at the tears on his face. I shake my head but he isn’t looking at me. “But thank you. I’ll try to find somewhere else to go.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Stay with me as long as you need. Wait are you still in school? How is he kicking you out? That’s like…”

“Yeah, I’m a senior. I don’t know. He’s a drunk and just-“ He shrugs and I decide to let it go. I’m shivering because of the cold again. But I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. “It’s probably better for me to not be with him anyway.”

“I’m a senior too.” I say while hugging myself and looking out at the unrelenting hail, moving a little closer to him, hopefully stealthily. He notices and gives up his jacket for me, wrapping it around my shoulders. “Thanks.”

He nods, taking a moment before opening up again. “But you’re homeschooled right?” he asks, remembering our previous conversations. I nod and he continues. “Are you homeschooled by yourself?”

“I have a younger brother, Mikey, but he’s a freshman.” 

“Will I get to meet him?” 

“Yeah, and my mom. They’re both great.”

“Okay.”

I nod. “I mean, that’s assuming the rain and hail stop and we don’t die of hypothermia here.” 

Frank laughs and leans against me, probably because he’s worried I’ll die without his heat. He’s a lot warmer than I would expect for a guy who has been sitting out in the rain for an extended period of time. “Yeah, I mean, god forbid, we walk through the rain.”

I laugh at this. “Hell no. We’d probably die immediately. That’s not an option.”

I watch the rain, because it’s just stopped hailing. The storm is beginning to let up a little. The rain still comes down hard, but isn’t nearly as bad as it had been moments before. “Do you still have to get the coffee?” he asks me, moving so his entire side and leg are pressed against me and his head is resting on my shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. You wouldn’t mind coming with me to get that, would you?” I ask, moving the jacket to cover both of us better. 

“Nah, plus, I’m not staying with someone that doesn’t have coffee,” he jokes.

“I wouldn’t,” I don’t think I’m even joking, unless the situation was dire. Then maybe I could put my caffeine addiction aside. The rain is coming down lightly now, a bit harder than drizzling, but fine for walking through. “Wanna go get it and go back to my place?”

“Yeah, okay,” He slips back into his jacket and I pull my own on, though it really just makes me colder and more wet. I hop off the bench and into the rain with him at my side. “I love this weather. It reminds me of fall.”

“Yeah, I just love being soaked to the bone and freezing to death,” I say sarcastically. 

“No, but I mean, the smell and it’s not hot for once. It’s beautiful for June.” He turns to me, intent on making me love the sucky weather. “Have you ever ran in the rain or danced or?”

“I run to get out of the rain. That counts.” 

“No, come here, you dork,” he grabs my hand and starts running, dragging me along with him.

“Fraaank,” I complain like a little kid, I’m just not into moderate exercise for any reason. 

“Geraaard,” he mocks me in a high-pitched voice.

I grin and he glances back at me, grinning as well. God, he’s a mess. His hair is plastered to his face and he’s soaked, I suppose I am as well, but the way his eyes shine makes being a mess worth it. 

He pulls me along until we’re at the store. We track water in and drip on things until we get the coffee and purchase it with damp money. He doesn’t drop my hand the entire time.

As soon as we’re outside he lets go of me and I frown, but look up from my feet and into his smiling face. He winks and takes off running. “Fraaank,” I’m whining again. He just keeps running. I sprint to try to catch up with him. I clutch the coffee to my chest and sprint after him like a mess. He frequently looks over his shoulder and grins at me, running faster every time I get close to catching up. Finally I’m right behind him when he jumps in a huge puddle, splashing water everywhere. I might be angry if I wasn’t already soaked and he wasn’t Frank. 

“I wouldn’t have stopped, but I have no clue where your house is,” he admits, bumping into me with his shoulder. I push my hair back out of my face, panting and cursing him silently for hardly being out of breath. He tilts his face up to the rain and grins, waiting for me to catch my breath. 

“You’re crazy,” I say after a short time and I can kinda breath. “And you get to carry the coffee now.” I shove it at him and he just shrugs, taking it with a smile. “Follow me.”

I turn left and take him down a smaller street to the one-way street I live on. He follows me up the stairs to my front door that I unlock and I’m immediately being shouted at.

“Gerard Arthur Way! Where have you been? Why the hell would you go out in this weather?” my mom shouts from somewhere inside. 

“Uh, I was getting coffee,” I reply sheepishly. She comes around a corner with a towel and raises an eyebrow at Frank. “Oh, is it okay if Frank stays the night?” I’ll tell her about the situation later.

“Of course you were,” she sighs, tossing the towel at me, and I get the since-when-do-you-have-friends-look. I hand it to Frank. “Yeah, stay as long as you want. I’ll get another towel.” She disappears around a corner while saying, “Take off as much clothing as you’re comfortable with. You are not tracking water everywhere.”

I take off my jacket and just plop it on the mat we’re standing on. I take the coffee from Frank and toss it down the hall a bit. He’s taking off his jacket. I lean down to take off my old converse. I get hit in the head with a towel, and when I turn to look the coffee is gone. Thanks mom. I look up at Frank who’s drying his hair, he grins at me and his hair is now sticking up everywhere. I laugh at him and peel off my socks. I try to dry my clothes with the towel a little, but my mom will just have to deal with a little water. 

“Come here,” I say after drying my hair with the towel. He steps closer to me and I pat his hair down. “You’re a mess.”

“You should see yourself,” he pouts and I pat his cheek not so gently before starting to walk to my room. 

“I’m gonna wear pajamas, do you want actual clothes or?” I ask as I lead him up the stairs to my mess of a room. 

“Pajamas are great,” he decides, awkwardly standing away from everything so he doesn’t get everything wet. 

I go into my dresser and pull out two pairs of flannel pajama bottoms, a worn out Black Flag shirt and a big Led Zeppelin shirt, and boxers because I am completely soaked. “Uh, if you wanna go into the bathroom?” I hand him some clothes. “And I can change in here.”

“Alright, I’ll try not to get lost,” he jokes, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. 

I try to change quickly but it is absolutely impossible to take off skinny jeans when they’re wet. I finally manage, but have to throw on the dry clothes really quickly as I hear a knock on the door. I go an open the door to find Frank in my clothes that are quite big on him. “I wasn’t sure what to do with my clothes.” He holds a bundle of wet fabric away from his body. 

I have my own pile of clothes as well. “I’ll put them in the dryer, if you wanna wait here.” I offer, taking his clothes and going to pick up our jackets and towels from by the front door. My mom stops me at the dryer. 

“So, who’s your friend?” She knows how antisocial I generally am, and without school I just didn’t really make friends.

“His name is Frank. Uh, his dad kicked him out of the house, I was wondering if he could stay with us for a while. I don’t know how long, but…” I give her a pleading look as I turn the dryer on.

She looks at me with concern, but not concern for me. “Oh, of course. Tell him he can stay as long as he needs.” 

“Uh, and don’t mention me telling you this,” I say, leaving before Frank gets too bored.


	3. Chapter 3

I find him standing at my desk, flipping through some papers. He looks so little and cute in the clothes that are a bit too big for him. There’s something immensely satisfying about seeing him in my clothes. Then I realize he’s looking through my drawings. Fuck, what if he finds the ones of him? I join him at the desk, see he’s not looking through the sketchbook full of drawings of him, I calm down and wait for him to notice me, standing slightly behind him.

He edges closer to me and continues to flip through the papers. I rest my chin on his shoulder, having to bend down quite a bit. “Did you draw all of these?” he asks, bringing his right hand up to pat my cheek.

“Mmhmm,” I reply, leaning into his touch.

“They’re amazing. You’re really good, Gee,” he enthuses, dropping his hand after a moment.

I smile widely; his compliment means so much to me. “Thanks. I could draw you if you want,” I offer, nuzzling into his neck a little. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but he’s warm and smells nice, and I really like him. Shit. Do I like him? I’ve only had 2 years to think about this…

“Mmm,” he doesn’t moan, but it’s not an effort to speak. I like that response. That’s a good response. “That would be amazing, Gee!” he returns to his enthusiastic puppy state. “Also your face is cold cold and now I’m cold.” He turns and I step back.

“Alright, blankets or sweatshirts?” I ask.

“Blanket,” he decides and I pull the duvet off my bed and wrap it around my shoulders, holding my arms open for him. He smiles and sinks into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning his head against my chest. I hug him tightly. I like the feeling of him against me, listening to him breathe, and feeling his heartbeat against my own. I love how he smells like cigarettes and rain. 

This is closer than most guys would ever get in a friendship after however much time, and we’ve only talked a couple of times. That’s alright. I mean Jack and Rose fell in love in a couple of days right? Wait; did I just compare us to one of the most well known romances? Yeah, I did. I think I mean it too. Just hopefully this one will have less death. 

“Is this better?” I ask. 

“Yeah, you’re really comfy,” he replies, his voice muffled because he’s speaking into my shirt and the blanket a bit.

“Likewise,” I smile. We stand like that for a few minutes in silence before I speak up, “I want to draw your hands, I think.”

“Right now?” he asks, pulling away from me slightly. 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” I shrug the blanket off, letting it fall to the floor and I grab my sketchbook, and pencils from off my desk. 

“Sure, no trouble. What do you want me to do?” he asks. 

“Sit down and put your hands on your knees or something. Sit how you were sitting in the rain.” I pull the chair over and sit with the sketchbook in my lap, it’s not an ideal set up, but it’s not a problem. 

He plops onto the bed and sits hunched over slightly with his arms resting on his thighs, his still-gloved hands between his knees, only two fingers interlocking. “Is this good?” he asks, looking up at me with a smile.

“Yeah, perfect,” I answer, already beginning to sketch. I start with his legs, arms, then hands. I begin with rough shapes, but then refine it into definite lines, and add details. 

“How long do your drawings take?” he asks and I glance up to his smiling face before going back to sketching.

“It depends. This one probably won’t take too long to get the general idea, then I dunno, we can eat and I’ll finish it later.”

“I can sit here all day, you can do it all now,” he assures me. 

“Just tell me if you get tired.”

“Alright.”

“Do you like art?” I ask to keep the conversation going. I like talking to him.

He pauses to think about his answer before speaking. “Yeah. I mean, I can’t draw and stuff, but I love art and thinking about it. I’m more into music. You know I play guitar. I could play for you again sometime. I’d just have to get my guitar…” he speaks and I grin, perfect. Of course, getting the guitar might be a bit difficult if he isn’t allowed in his house.

“I’d love that. I’ll have to play piano again for you sometime,” I say, working on the gloves. 

He nods happily. “That’d be amazing. Thanks for letting me stay here, Gee. I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

“It’s no trouble, really. I’m happy to help, and I like having you here. You can stay as long as you want.”

“Would it be an issue with your mom?” he asks. 

“Nah, she’s fine with you here. She’s just really excited that I actually have a friend.” 

“I wanted to move out after I graduated, anyway. It’s just that I won’t be 18 until Halloween, so I’d need someone to live with.”

“Your birthday is on Halloween? Cool. I turned 18 in April,” I inform him. “Maybe we could be roommates?” I begin to daydream aloud. 

Frank’s face lights up and I grin widely back at him, before looking back down at my sketchbook. “Really? That would be amazing, Gee!”

“Definitely,” I assure him. It doesn’t even occur to me that we hardly know each other and we’re talking about living together. “I’m nearly done.” I say, putting some finishing touches on the drawing. 

I hear footsteps coming from down the hallway. “Gee, are you- Oh, hey, who’s this?” my little brother Mikey says from the doorway.

“This is my friend Frank,” I answer, still drawing. 

Frank smiles. “Hey.”

“He’ll be staying with us for a while,” I tell him.

“Alright cool. I’m Mikey. Are you drawing him?” 

I nod. 

“Hmm, he must really like you, Frank,” he says and I look up, blushing furiously and glaring daggers at him. Mikey’s seen some of my sketches of Frank, he’d have to recognize him. Frank cannot know about those.

“What? I-“ I sputter, unable to form a sentence. Frank just grins at me. I go back to sketching, letting my hair fall over my face to hide my blush.

“Why do you say that?” Frank asks.

“He never draws people. I mean he drew me once. He doesn’t like people.”

“Alright, thanks Mikey. You can leave now,” I say quickly. I look up to Mikey winking at Frank as he left the room.

I focus on my sketch. “So that was my little brother.” 

“He seems cool,” Frank says. I can feel him staring at me. 

“Yeah, I guess. I’m done,” I decide. I stand up, stretching a little and he watches me stumble over to sit next to him on the bed. “My foot fell asleep.” I explain as he laughs at my clumsiness. “Shut up,” I groan pushing him with my shoulder. 

He leans into me and puts his arm around me. “But you’re funny and cute.” 

I feel my cheeks heat up. “Yeah, shut up and look at your drawing.” I hold up my sketchbook for him. It’s a kinda simple drawing showing from his arms and chest down to just past his knees. I think it’s cute, probably because it’s of Frank. But the combination of the pajama pants and gloves is adorable. I rest my head against his, nervously awaiting a response.

“That’s amazing, Gee. You’re a really great artist.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Can I keep it? I mean I don’t have anywhere to put it, so maybe you should just keep it… Am I sleeping in here tonight?”

“Sure, I’ll get extra pillows and blankets. You can sleep on the floor, or I can, or-“ I stop before offering to share the bed. That might be weird. 

“Yeah, we can figure it out later,” Frank smiles, pulling away from me. He turns slightly to face me. I panic and stand up to put my sketchbook back on the desk. “Gerard?”

“Yeah?” I avoid looking at him. I pretend I really have to organize my pencils, papers, and sketchbooks. Was he going to kiss me? 

“I’m thirsty,” he then frowns as I turn and raise my eyebrow at him. “What?” He pauses, realizing what I’m implying. “No! Not like that! I just want water. God…” I laugh at him and he collapses on my bed, groaning in annoyance.

“If you say so,” I tease, as if I wasn’t the one who ran away from intimacy a moment ago. “We can go get water. Come here.” I hold my hand out to help him up, but one of us is too enthusiastic and he smacks into me and I’m clumsy on a good day, so I loose my balance and fall to the ground. I groan, falling flat on your back with the weight of a Frank on you isn’t pleasant. I mean the Frank part isn’t so bad.

“Whoops,” he smiles crookedly. He doesn’t get up immediately, but straddles me instead; his hands support him from either side of my neck. I stare up at him nervously; he bites his ring-adorned lip and glances down at my lips before returning his hazel gaze to mine. He shifts his weight and cups his hand over my cheek, tilting my face up slightly. He shuts his eyes and mine widen as he leans in, but they close when his lips press to the tip of my nose. He pulls away, grinning like an idiot, and laughing. 

I chuckle as he rolls off of me and helps me to my feet. We go downstairs to the kitchen to get water. I sit on the counter with a glass of water in my hands and Frank leans against the island across from me, drinking his water. 

My mom walks in and smiles at us. “I’m glad you’re not dripping everywhere now. Is pizza okay for dinner? The dough is in the oven, so really there’s nothing you can do about it if you don’t want it. Gee, you know how to make it from here right? I’m late for work. You know where the blankets are. Make sure Mikey eats. Don’t do anything illegal. Goodbye.” She speaks rapidly, while gathering things like keys, her phone, and glasses form around the kitchen, and then she leaves.

“Well, we are gonna have hopelessly burned pizza then,” I announce. “What do you like on your pizza?”

“Just cheese.” Frank replies looking like he wants to help but has no clue how. 

“Alright cool. Do you wanna get the pan thing out of the cabinet above the oven?” I ask, wile getting out the cheese and sauce and stuff. 

“Sure, great job for a short guy,” he complains, having to jump a bit to even try to reach it, but he moves a lot of other things because he can’t see while jumping, and I’m getting worried things are gonna fall on him. “I give up, I’m going to die.” He stops jumping and turns to face me.

“Don’t die, shorty,” I reply, stretching over him to grab the pan. I tap his head with the pan before setting it down on the island. He pouts, which is too adorable, especially with his lip ring. I nudge him to the side so I can get the dough out of the oven and the mess that is our pizza making process ensues.

By the time the pizza is ready, I’ve had to stick my head in the sink twice because Frank got sauce in my hair, Frank just has to wash sauce off of his entire face. We had to open two bags of cheese because our snacking got out of hand. Despite this, Frank complained of hunger for the entire 15 minutes until the pizza was ready.

“Did you hear that? That was my stomach,” Frank said, though I didn’t hear anything. “I’m so hungry.”

“God, when’s the last time you’ve eaten?” I ask teasingly. 

“Oh,” he frowns and actually starts to think about it. My eyes widen and I get off the counter he’s leaning on and face him. “Yesterday I had lunch at school. My dad...”

“Frankie,” I immediately regret teasing him about eating all the cheese and complaining of hunger. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want to be a bother,” he shrugs and looks up at me with big eyes and a small smile. 

I open my arms to him and he hugs me, burying his face in my chest. I rest my chin on the top of his head and hold him close to me until the timer goes off for the pizza. I let go and take the pizza out of the oven without burning myself. Success! 

“I’ll get Mikey. You can cut it?” I pull the pizza cutter out of a drawer and set it on the island and leave him to go get my little brother. 

“Mikey! The pizza’s ready. Mikes!” He’s probably listening to music because he doesn’t hear me shouting to him. I run up the stairs and back to his room. I knock before entering because I’m a decent human being and find him playing the bass. “Dinner’s ready,” I inform him as he turns around as soon as the door opens.

“Cool, I’ll be down in a second,” he replies.

I nod and turn to go back to Frank.

“Hey, Gee?”

“Yeah?” I turn around from just past the door and wait for him to speak.

“You really like Frank don’t you? You’ve never brought anyone else home and drawn them.” He speaks while putting his bass on its stand. “You never even talk to anyone.”

“I- I don’t want to answer that question,” I stutter, dropping my gaze to the floor.

“Because if you don’t, he’s really cute and I-,” he laughs at the horrified face I make. “I’m just kidding, Gee. He’s all yours.” I try to say something clever, but give up and end up making a weird noise. “Do you wanna wait a second so you’re not really blushing when we go back?”

“I’m not blushing,” I protest, feeling my cheeks get even warmer. “Shut up.” I groan as he laughs and I leave. Good god, brothers. 

I return to the kitchen and find Frank looking at the crookedly cut pizza hungrily. “I can’t find plates,” he tells me, beaming as soon as he sees me. 

“They’re literally in the cabinet right behind you,” I don’t give him time to move. I stretch over him and open the cabinet to grab the plates. He pokes my stomach and I flinch, being incredibly ticklish. “Stop, I’ll drop the plates,” I whine and he obliges. I set the plates down beside the pizza; none of the cuts were straight and none of the pieces were even close to the same size. “You can’t cut for shit.” 

“Well, nothing about me is straight so how do you expect me to cut a goddamn pizza well. And tell that to my thighs,” he retorts, not at all phased by what he admitted too. He bumps me with his hip, but I turn to his smile with wide eyes and a frown. 

“Are you serious? You-“ He cuts me off, and I’m kinda glad.

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal.” He sees my ‘how the hell is self harm not a big deal’ look and adds quickly, “I’ve been clean for at least a month.” 

I nod slowly and he pulls me into a hug. “Did you just come out to me, admit to self harm, and flirt with me in 2 sentences?” I ask quietly.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he pulls away, keeping a hand on my arm and grinning at me.

I smile a little back at him. “If you have to be straight to cut a pizza well I’d be pretty shit at it as well,” I tell him.

He smirks, “Good.” 

I’m sure I’m blushing, so I turn to take a plate and put a few pieces of pizza on it. Frank does the same Mikey finally decides to make an appearance, filling up his plate and sitting on a stool at the island. I sit on the counter, leaning against the fridge, and Frank leans against the counter beside me. He pauses from stuffing his face with pizza to greet Mikey, “Hello.”

Mikey smiles, and responds before returning to eating, “Hey.”

The conversation ends and we eat, until I decide I’m finished and finish my water from before. Frank continues to eat for a while. Together the three of us ate the majority of the pizza. Mikey finishes and goes back to his room. 

“Did you eat enough?” I ask Frank, a bit worried because he hasn’t eaten in so long.

“Yeah, I’m stuffed. You really don’t have to worry about me, Gee. I’m fine,” he assures me.

“Mmm, okay,” I hop off the counter. “Wanna go watch Netflix or something?” 

He nods and follows me back up to my room. I plop down on the bed and pull my laptop onto my lap; he sits on the edge of the bed, suddenly becoming timid. I lean back on some pillows, and pat the spot next to me and he sits close to me without touching me. 

“What do you want to watch?” I ask, scrolling through Netflix. 

“Mmm, are scary movies alright?” I ask, because I have a great collection of scary movies and Netflix doesn’t.

He nods, “But I might like panic and punch you in the face.”

“Mmm, well I’d appreciate not getting punched in the face, but this movie is worth it either way,” I reply. I close Netflix and grab my favorite movie from off of a shelf. I get back into bed, this time under the covers, and soon enough Frank is under the blankets as well. 

We don’t speak as the movie begins. Frank jumps at the first scare and maybe I do a bit too, but then he curls up against me and he’s almost too cute to tease. “You’re a big wimp. Well, little, but…” I smirk down at him as he turns his head to scowl at me.

“Hey, you jumped too, and I’m like 3 inches shorter than you tops.”

“Whatever,” I reply cleverly, and we return our attention to the movie.

I put my arm around him and move so I’m half lying down half sitting. He rests his head and hand on my stomach, snuggling into my cutely. Every time something particularly scary happens he flinches and digs his fingers into my side and that makes me jump, not the movie but how ticklish I am. 

“Mmm, stop, you’re tickling me,” I finally complain softly. He pokes me again and again, until I can grab his hands. “Frankie.”

“Gee,” he replies, flapping his arms to try to get me to let go.

“I’m only letting go if you promise to stop tickling me,” I insist. 

He pouts, and god it’s cute the way his lower lip sticks out and he bats his big hazel eyes at me. “But it’s fun.”

“Not for me,” I reply, but I drop his hands anyway. He pokes me once more just to annoy me, and then he settles back down against my stomach. I drape my arm around him, my hand on his stomach. He takes my hand in one of his, his other arm wrapped tightly around my torso. When he gets scared he just squeezes my hand and stomach a little, and I squeeze his hand back. 

I can’t help but wonder what I’m feeling right now. I’m happy for the first time in a long while, maybe not happy, but content. I’m content with Frank lying on me. But I don’t think I like him. I haven’t felt a spark of nervousness and bliss when I’m around him. Isn’t that what love is supposed to be? I’m completely comfortable around him. I mean, sometimes I’m a bit timid about intimacy but really only when other people are aware. Then I remember how obsessed with him I was for the past 2 years of my life. That doesn’t happen with anyone. Maybe this is something more than just a friendship. Right now it’s just confusing. 

But I can’t deny that it feels nice falling asleep with him sleeping on my chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Generally I do not sleep well. It started when I was little; at one point I had nightmares so frequently I was afraid to sleep. Since, then sleeping has never really been pleasurable and I couldn’t actually fall asleep, stay asleep, or sleep in late anyway. So naturally I wake before Frank.

We shifted around a lot during the night. I’m on my back with my arm around him. He is on his side, pressed up against me with his head resting heavily on my lower chest. One arm is tucked between us, but his right hand sits on my thigh, his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of my pants.

I can’t see his face, as he’s on my chest, but he looks adorable and tiny all curled up. His chest presses into my side a little more when he inhales silently, but his exhalations make a soft airy noise, that sometimes gets paired with a cute, little, sleepy noise as Frank slowly returns to consciousness. I don’t know if I should wake him, pretend I’m sleeping and wait for him to wake, or get up and do something until he’s awake. I decide to wake him, because that would mean the least amount of time until breakfast and to talk to him. I run my hand down his arm, not wanting to be unnecessarily forceful and annoying in waking him up. “Frankie,” I say, as he stirs slightly. “Wake up, Frank.”

“Shhhh,” Frank groans, flipping over, but keeping his back pressed to my side. “I’m trying to sleep, asshole.”

“But I’m hungry,” I complain a little, sitting up in bed and stretching without actually getting up.

“Mmm, what time is it?” he asks, because food.

I check my phone that was on the side table. “7:22.”

“Fuck, Gee. Too early. That’s like 4 hours of sleep tops,” he groans, still refusing to face me.

“Yeah, well, I can’t sleep. I’m hungry. You’re awake, more or less,” I try to persuade him.

“Just no,” he yawns.

“Fine,” I give up, flopping back down onto the bed, trying to disrupt his return to unconsciousness as much as possible.

“Wake me up in like an hour,” Frank mumbles, probably trying to make me feel better. I flip onto my side, slide my arm around his waist, and pull him closer to me. He makes a little noise that I take to mean he likes our proximity. “And try to sleep. You need more than 4 hours of sleep.”

“I can’t sleep,” I complain into his hair.

“It helps if you shut up,” he offers me wisdom and kindness.

I make an indignant noise and close my eyes. I slowly begin to drift off to sleep again. Then I wonder why I can sleep now. It’s probably that Frank’s here. He’s warm, comfortable, and smells nice. Unfortunately, thinking wakes me up and I groan and try to fall asleep again, hugging Frank tighter. I think he’s asleep again, because his breathing is slow and rhythmic. I match my breathing to his and begin to calm down, my thoughts slowing until I doze off.

I wake to pressure on my shoulder and deep-rooted fear eating away at me, a burning discomfort boiling in my stomach, I flinch away from whatever it is, my eyes shooting open and I realize I’m panting and sweaty. Frank looks at me with big worried eyes from where he is sitting up next to me. “You were yelling,” he says simply.

I nod, trying to return my breathing to normal, but I can’t shake the panicked feeling that lingers from my night terror. I doubt I'll be able to shake the nervous feeling residing deep within my stomach and mind for hours, much less two minutes. “Sorry, I-“ my voice cracks and I have to blink rapidly and stop talking so I don’t cry. I try to control my breathing. I close my eyes. I can’t cry. Frank eases down next to me, wrapping his arms around me.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” he whispers soothingly, and I’m torn between calming down and crying because someone cares about me. He's not yelling at me or telling me to get it together. He's comforting me. “Everything’s okay, Gee. Shhh.”

Then my bedroom door swings open and Mikey pokes his head in. Frank shrinks back, letting me go for obvious reasons, but I cling to his arm and he holds me again. “Gerard? Are you-“ He stops, processing Frank in my bed with me, his eyebrows shoot up. “Night terror?”

I nod, not trusting myself with speech.

“Uh,” Mikey says awkwardly. “It looks like Frank’s got this covered? I’m gonna-” He shuts the door quickly and leaves.

I’m glad he’s gone. I bury my face in Frank’s chest, trying not to cry but my breathing keeps returning to a panicked choking. “Gee, breathe with me, okay?” I nod, and then he instructs me to inhale, and then exhale for a longer amount of time, whilst doing it himself. Soon enough I’m breathing normally and not on the verge of tears. He’s playing with my hair until I pull away from he chest. “How’re you feeling?” he asks, patting my cheek.

“Hungry,” I mumble, deciding to pretend everything that just happened didn’t.

“Wanna go eat?” he asks me, pushing red hair out of my face. I nod and we disentangle ourselves from each other, to get up. “Gee?” Frank asks quietly, when I’m walking to the door, and he’s still stretching.  
I turn to him, biting my lip slightly, worrying about what he might say. I hope I wasn't talking in my sleep. I'm sure I was, but hopefully nothing embarrassing anyway.

“You can talk to me about anything,” he says simply, joining me near the door, and following me when I begin to walk.

“Thanks,” I reply simply.

I avoid looking him as we walk to the kitchen. I’m embarrassed about my panicking. He doesn’t seem to mind, but I do, and I tell myself I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. Mikey is sitting in the kitchen eating cereal messily. He looks up and smiles at us. “Good morning! How’re you?” he seems to direct the question towards me, because he sounds concerned. But before I can answer questions, I have to make coffee.

“Morning,” Frank replies. He glances at the clock, as if 9:00 is an evil time to be up on a Saturday.

“I’m alright,” I assure Mikey, once I have a mug off coffee in my hands and there’s one for Frank, or maybe me if he doesn’t drink it quickly enough. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“I have a taste for pancakes, but,” he begins.

“Make pancakes, Gee!” Mikey shouts excitedly.

“You’re already eating cereal, Mikes,” I groan, but go to get pancake mix and other pancake necessities.

“You can mind your own business. I’m growing and have a black hole stomach,” Mikey retorts. I’ve been pretending he’s not growing, but he’s catching up to me.  
“Where do you keep chocolate chips?” Frank asks, noticing I didn’t get them out.  
“In that cabinet,” Mikey points enthusiastically, after finishing his cereal.

“I don’t think you need any more sugar than necessary, Mikey,” I say, while whisking the pancake mix together, taking necessary coffee breaks.

“I don’t think you get a say in how much sugar you’re brother and I consume,” Frank defends Mikey.

Mikey nods, pleased with Frank.

“Whatever,” I roll my eyes, but I like chocolate chips in my pancakes anyway, so I give in.

Mikey sits at the counter, happily awaiting pancakes. Frank looks everywhere for a pan whilst snacking on chocolate chips. I finish the pancake mix and get ladle out, stealing a few chocolate chips out of Frank’s hand as he turns the stove on.

“Hey,” Frank whines. I take a few more, sticking my tongue out at him before popping half of them into my mouth. He pouts and I give the two I have left, all but smacking him in the face with them. I press my hand to his lips, and he opens with mouth to eat the chocolate chips and lick my hand.

“Ew,” I complain, pulling my hand away and wiping it on Frank’s shirt, which is actually mine.

“Yeah, ew,” Mikey groans. “I just want pancakes.”

Frank and I are just as messy at make pancakes as we were with pizza. He insists that he can flip the pancakes all weird with the pan, but a half-cooked pancakes just ends up hitting the ceiling and falling onto my shoulder, luckily cooked side down so I don’t have to change. The next time he tries it hits his hand and flops onto the floor, making a mess. I hardly consider telling him to stop; he looks too cute with his tongue sticking out of his mouth a little in concentration.

I hold the unused flippy thingy to my mouth as if it's a microphone. "I'm Gerard Way, and this," I pause dramatically, "Is the weekend pancake report." Mikey giggles at me and Frank cracks a grin. That's enough support for me to continue, "I'm here with Frank Iero, the pancake flipper. What advice do you have for the amateurs, Mr. Iero?"

"Lot's of practice and sweat and blisters," Frank plays along.

"Yes, so definitely don't do that or else you will suck as horribly as this bitch," I tease, leaning back against the counter. 

"Yeah, I really suck. You could say I'm great at sucking," he mumbles, so only I can hear, and the way he waggles his eyebrows at me makes me blush.

"Uh, so this has been the weekend pancake report, concluding with Frank Iero is a massive dork," I conclude, setting down the spatula, laughing at out ridiculousness with them.

Eventually, Frank gets the hang of it, though occasionally we have to rescue some stray pancakes from off the counter to put them back into the pan. I decide we’d be able to make more pancakes if I flip, and he only agrees when I let him pour the batter into shapes that aren't even close to being circles. 

Soon enough we have a plate towering with chocolate chip pancakes, which is surprising because Mikey started eating them before we were even halfway done making them. Frank is already eating one by the time I flip the last pancake onto the stack. He insisted on pouring the batter for them so half of the pancakes aren’t even remotely circular, a lot of them are smaller than the palm of my hand, and a few are as big as the pan.

Mikey is just shoving everything into his mouth and Frank is taking big bites of a huge pancake he’s holding. I don’t think they’d use plates even if I got them out, so I grab a pancake that’s suspiciously shaped like heart that got hit by a truck. “Was this supposed to be a heart because it looks like someone sat on it,” I comment to Frank.

“Actually yes. It’s an accurate representation of what my heart looks like. It wasn’t sat on so much as hit by a train or something,” Frank replies through a pancake. “Don’t judge my artistic talent until you know the whole story, Mr. Art… Pants.” He makes a weird ‘that was not my best moment’ face at his lame insult.

“Mr. Art Pants?” Mikey asks, rolling his eyes.

“You can shut up,” he points at Mikey good-naturedly, opening his mouth to insult him but thinking better of it.

“I hope your heart doesn’t actually look like this because that might make the whole blood and not dying thing difficult,” I smirk at Frank. He shoots me a look like ‘I do not want to hear it,’ so I stand a little closer to him than socially acceptable. “Is it okay if I eat your train wreck heart or do you wanna be in charge of it?” I ask, still holding it in my hand.

“Mmm, I think I trust you with my heart,” he mumbles and I can feel myself blushing, I glance up at him and he’s a bit red too. I can feel Mikey trying to catch my gaze.

I just eat my pancake, then take another one. “That one is you,” Frank points out before I take a bite.

I look at it a bit closer. It’s a big mess of a circle with what almost looks like something that could be hair. “Ah, yeah I can tell because it’s hot,” I joke.

Frank pokes the pancake. “It’s kinda just warm,” he decides.

I frown. “Well thanks.”

He grins and nods. “Of course.”

“Well, I can’t eat myself. That’s just wrong,” I say at length.

Frank takes the pancake from me and takes a bite out of what would be my ear. “You taste good,” he says and winks suggestively.

I fucking die. Did he really just say that in front of my little brother? I glance at Mikey who’s just waggling his eyebrows at me. “You don’t taste so bad yourself,” I manage to say without stuttering horribly. “But I swear to god, you ruined my good looks by eating half of my face.”

“Nah, you’re still the prettiest princess,” Frank replies whilst chewing on my pancakes face.

“Well I’m glad because my looks are pretty much all I had going for me,” I joke before nibbling on a circular pancake. God, I don’t believe that. I have nothing going for me.

“You know except for your whole artistic talent, ability to play the piano, and your fucking voice. God Gee, you’re probably the most talented person I know,” Frank says earnestly, looking slightly hurt that I would even think that.

Mikey nods enthusiastically in agreement.

“Thanks, but-“ I begin, not looking at any of them, but at the half-eaten pancake in my hands, Frank cuts me off before I can even finish my second word.

“No. Not but. Gerard, you’re so talented,” he envelopes me in a hug that makes me forget how much I hate myself for a second.  
“I-“ I stop myself because I know I will cry if I keep talking. I just bury my face in his neck and let him hold me.

“It’s true, Gee,” Mikey puts in. Then because none of the Way's are at all awkward, not even the slightest bit, he adds, “Also I’m going to Pete’s house now.”

My self hate does not come anywhere close to my priority of Mikey and his safety. “Pete?” I ask, pulling away from Frank.

“Uh, yeah,” Mikey speaks a bit nervously, stuttering and stumbling over words. “He- I… I met him at the music shop. He plays bass too.”

I nod, staring into my brother’s soul and deciding he probably likes this guy or is lying to me about where he’s going. “Alright, I trust he’s not a serial killer or a fake person.”

“Probably not,” Mikey shrugs.

I shrug back. “Have fun. If he’s a serial killer Frank and I will try to save you or something.” Mikey rolls his eyes and goes to get changed. He’s barely out of the room when Frank attacks me with a hug. I make a surprised note that sounds like a yelp but I didn’t yelp, nope, and I stumble back a few steps to deal with his momentum. “What are you doing?” I ask Frank in amusement.

“Letting you know that you are loved. You’re not worthless. You’re not talentless. You are so important, Gee,” he stresses, pulling away to look at me, but still holding my shoulders. “You are so talented. You’re amazing.”

I don’t manage to hold his gaze for the entire time he is talking. I look down past his shoulder, because I can’t look into his sad hazel eyes without crying. “I-“ I begin to talk, but my voice cracks and I pause to collect myself again. He pulls me to him when I stop and runs his hands up and down my back comfortingly, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Thank you. I- I needed that,” I finally get out.

“I’ll keep telling you until you get it into your head that you’re wonderful. God, where would I be without you?” I think, on the streets, but he continues. “Gee, I’d probably not be alive. Trying to see you again was one of the few things that kept me holding on sometimes.” Now his voice is getting thick and cracking and he shudders against me. “And fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. I- that’s kinda… but-“ He buries his face in my chest. He lets out a choked sob and I can’t help but begin to cry, hiding my face in his hair. I was already close to tears, and seeing him like this puts me over the edge.

I hold him tightly against me and he clings to me like I’m his lifeline. “No, it’s okay Frank. It’s okay,” Is all I can say whilst sobbing and trying to stop.

Mikey, being Mikey, walks in on our sob fest. I look up when he clears his throat, quickly wiping my eyes on the back of my hands. “I’ll just walk over then,” he says and I nod. Frank still has his arms locked around my waist and is refusing to look up. “Uh, be careful and have fun?” Mikey adds and god I can see the concern in his eyes. He worries more about me than he should.

“No, you be careful and have fun. Don’t get killed by a serial killer bassist,” I try to lighten the mood, which is difficult when someone’s still crying into your shirt. I run my hands up and down Frank’s back soothingly. “We’re fine.” Mikey nods, gives me one more worried look, and then leaves. Frank takes a shaky breath and pulls away from me a moment after he leaves. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he sniffles. “Sorry about that…”

“It’s fine. It’s really fine,” I say, wiping tears off of his cheeks. I kiss the top of his head very briefly and smile a little at him. “Do you wanna go get your guitar and stuff today?” I ask him, partially because he should have his stuff for school on Monday, but I also really want him to play.

He takes a deep breath and nods, making an effort to smile, “Yeah, okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get really nervous about posting stuff because it's never exactly what I want it to be, but whatever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, there's self harm in this chapter and it's kinda sad. It's okay at the very end and writing depressing stuff makes me sad so it'll get better later. 
> 
> The next chapter will definitely be happier and more fluffy

I stand next to Frank, staring at the apartment building in front of us. One of my hands is squeezing Frank’s hand lightly; the other is playing with the strap of my empty backpack. I’m not looking at his house so much as at him. It was amusing to watch him fall over while trying to get my black skinny jeans on, but now he just looked fucking adorable in my jeans that are too long for him. He looks so tiny. I gave him a smaller shirt to wear this time, an old Deftones shirt; it’s actually slightly tight on him, which is the opposite of a problem. I did his eyeliner this morning, but messed up and just decided he’d make a cute raccoon. He did mine in retribution and it looks like black and red makeup beat me up. I’m wearing a pair of skinny jeans that actually fit me and a plain black shirt with a black jacket over it, not that it’s cold; the rain passed and left us with disgustingly humid June weather, I just love jackets. 

It’s only after a few moments of us not moving, with us getting a few odd looks from passersby that I decide to say something. “Okay, so we don’t have the force and can’t open doors with our minds,” I joke; I can practically feel how nervous Frank is about this. He picks at the hem of his shirt, bites his lip, and periodically looks over his shoulder, probably looking for his dad so we can give up and leave before he sees us. 

He smiles, no matter how anxiously. “We could try physically opening it, you know, like normal people,” he plays along with my less than mediocre humor. 

“Where did that idea come from? That’s crazy,” I grin at him, tugging on his hand and stepping towards the door. 

He pulls out a key and unlocks the door, shutting softly, then pulling me up a flight of stairs while speaking softly, “He should be at work but…” He drops my hand to unlock the door at the top of the stairs, his hands are shaking badly and he fumbles with the lock for a moment. Soon we stand in a dark room that’s stuffy and smells heavily of alcohol. I stand awkwardly while Frank creeps through the room, poking his head around a corner and then returning to my side. “He’s not home. Uh, welcome to my shitty apartment,” he gestures grandly around him at the clutter despite his obvious dislike of the place. “You get the grand tour. So this is the room where we put everything we don’t really need immediately.” I follow him to the kitchen, then to a tiny bathroom, and two bedrooms, stopping in the second one. “This is the room with a fridge. This is the world’s tiniest bathroom. This is the monster’s lair. I hide in this room.” He stands in the middle of his bedroom, biting his lip again and watching me nervously for my reaction.

I look around, smiling a little bit at the punk posters that he has taped on the walls, the guitars and amps, the clothes littering the floor, and every flat surface for that matter. I plop down onto his bed, after tossing my empty book bag onto it, taking a minute to look around again. “I really like your room,” I decide and his nervous expression melts away into a smile. 

He moves about the room, starting to make a pile of clothes, then getting distracted and grabbing something else. My eyes follow him as he packs clothes into a black backpack, and then crosses the room to get his guitar stuff together. I grow bored after a few minutes and stand to go look at his CD collection, which is great. I really approve. He has all of the best bands; Smashing Pumpkins, the Misfits, Black Flag, Iron Maiden, David Bowie, and countless other bands and musicians. There’s a weight on my shoulder and warm skin pressed against my cheek. He speaks softly near my ear, “You’re gonna have to help me carry these.” 

“Of course. I would die if we had to leave them behind,” I’m not even being sarcastic. “Now finish packing, it’ll take like 3 years for you to finish if you keep this up.” He groans into my ear but then I feel a lack of heat and know he isn’t standing directly behind me anymore. I grab my bag from on the bed and begin to fill it with CDs. 

“Wait, wait,” his voice is barely louder than a whisper but so urgent and scared that I immediately turn to look at him. “Shit, Gee. Is he here?” He wrings his hands and is beginning to hyperventilate. “Do you hear that?” 

“Hey, shhh, Frank,” he stops talking long enough for me to hear the creaking of the stairs. Someone, presumably Frank’s dad, will be in the apartment soon. “Alright, so do you have a back door or a fire escape or something?” I ask calmly, though I’m shoving CDs into the backpack as fast as I can while trying to control my breathing. This is bad and 2 people having panic attacks aren’t helpful to the situation at all. 

“Yeah a fire escape in the living room,” he’s visibly shaking. 

“Alright, grab your stuff and let’s get out quickly,” I order him, slinging my bag over my shoulder, leading him out of his room. There are noises at the front door now and I’m so sure that the only reason his dad isn’t already in here is that he’s too drunk to get the key in the lock. 

I throw the window open and watch him scramble out, and then hand him the guitar as the door swings open. I turn to watch a man stumble into the room, his eyes landing on me, and looking confused for a second before becoming angry. I forget what I’m supposed to be doing as he charges towards me. Frank shouts at me from outside and I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. I throw myself at the window, barely making it over before his dad is at the window. Thank god he was so hammered he couldn’t walk. I stumble into Frank, nearly killing us by pushing him over the railing with my excess momentum from climbing out of the window; instead we hit the railing and will be sporting fun bruises by tomorrow.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I’m saying repeatedly, and Frank’s dad is shouting from inside the apartment, looking like he might climb out of the window, and Frank is actually functioning properly and pulling me down the steps and away. 

I haven’t stopped my vulgar chanting by the time we’re on the sidewalk and Frank points it out. “It’s okay Gee, it’s okay now,” he assures me, despite the fact that he’s the one that’s shaking; he’s the one with the right to be having a breakdown. So I pull myself together. “That was less than pleasant.”

I nod. “Sorry for nearly killing us,” I apologize, rubbing my arm where it hit the railing: Frank rubs his back when I mention it but waves it off. 

“Nah, sorry for my crazy monster of a father,” he picks the guitar case up after shouldering his backpack and begins to walk, me walking beside him.

“That’s not something you should apologize for,” I tell him. 

He shrugs.

We walk back to my house in silence. I unlock my door with ease and lead him to my room, still not talking, not because we’re angry or upset with each other. We just don’t have anything to say. It’s a comfortable and much needed silence. 

He tosses his backpack onto my bed and sets his guitar up in the corner of my room, before collapsing onto my bed as well. I set my bag down and fall next to him, waiting for an arm to wrap around my shoulders before pressing myself against him. “It’ll be a fun story to tell,” I listen to him speak while listening to his heartbeat with my face pressed against his chest. 

“True, which would be nice if I had friends,” I reply quietly, but I really could be talking so only I could hear and we’d be close enough that he could hear me.

“You have Mikey and someone else I’m sure. I could introduce you to some of my friends tomorrow?” He offers. 

I nod eagerly, the fabric of his shirt moving with my face, and riding up so naturally I poke the newly exposed skin on his stomach. He just groans in what I take to be slight annoyance. I tug on the hem for him so it covers his stomach again, leaving my hand resting low on his stomach. “What day is tomorrow even?” I ask, because I literally have no clue. Time is difficult and I like to pretend that it never passes, which makes it even more difficult to keep track of.

“Sunday maybe?” He asks more than answers. “I don’t know. I’m no going to school so I hope it’s Sunday.” 

“Yeah, we can’t have you skipping school,” I can’t even tell if I’m being sarcastic. Everyone says school is really important for life and stuff, but that doesn’t mean it is. Most people have no fucking clue what they’re talking about and just follow each other; they’re the reason there are problems in society. I’ve always hated schoolwork anyway. But, I don’t want Frank to get in trouble for not going. What would happen if someone looked into his whole home life situation?

“Eh, I could deal with never going back to school.”

“We’re almost done with it anyway. May as well finish the last few weeks and have a diploma to show for it,” I rationalize, as if I haven’t been counting down the days until I’m free. Not that I have a plan or somewhere to go, I just like the idea that I won’t have to keep going to school.

“Yeah, I guess,” he sighs and my head rises and falls with his chest. “We have what 2 weeks left? It’s so close but so far.”

“Something around there. I have no clue. Mikey would know.” His dramatic sigh makes me laugh a little. “Isn’t the last week like all graduation preparation anyway?” I ask, poking his tummy for emphasis. 

“And finals!” he groans in exasperation from school and also because I keep poking his tummy. He finally grabs my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine so I can’t poke him anymore. I’m okay with this. I like holding hands with him and cuddling simultaneously. 

“Yeah, true,” I give up, not having an argument against finals. 

“It’s still another 2 weeks of dealing with bullies and horrible teachers,” he pauses, “But I get to come here after and you can fix my bloody noses and make me feel better.” 

I nod eagerly, and then press myself up against him, higher so my face is closer to his neck, my legs tangling with his. I pull my hand away from his to trail it lazily up and down the side of his neck to where it meets his shoulders. “I’m like the best at making people feel good,” I enthuse. 

“Yeah?” He laughs at my enthusiasm, and need to get in his face with it. 

“Are you doubting my feel good abilities?” I ask in false anger.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“You wear black 24/7 and are the emo prince or something,” He explains while running his hand through my hair in a really distracting manner. “Plus we started our day by crying, which isn’t so happy.”

“Yeah, but now we’re cuddling and laughing, and that’s pretty happy,” I reply, resting my hand on his chest again in a closed fist. 

“True,” I feel his chest rise and he takes a breath to follow that thought up, but he releases the air as a sigh.

Because I’m incredibly intelligent and well spoken I add, “Hmm.”

“I should text my friends so we can do something tomorrow and you can meet them,” he decides after a few minutes of silence that he spends playing with my hair.

“Yeah.” I’d like to meet his friends; I just don’t want him to get up. 

“I should also unpack,” he shifts around, trying to get up. I consider pinning him down and refusing to stop hugging him, but he’s right. 

“Do you want help?” I ask, rolling off the bed and onto my feet.

Frank nods, standing and stretching. “Yeah, where should I put my clothes?” he asks, playing with the straps whilst awaiting an answer.

“You can just put it with my stuff in the closet and dresser, unless you want to keep everything separate?” I ask more than answer.

“Nah, we can definitely share clothes, the jeans might be a bit too small for you though,” he unzips the bag, and begins to go through my drawers, putting his shirts in with my shirts. He glances up at me with an odd look while he puts his socks away, I make a face at him and begin to take the bag with all of his CDs in it and put them on my shelf. He doesn’t have that many clothes and is soon done putting them away, so he helps me stack his CDs with mine. 

It crosses my mind that if he wants to ever leave me we’re going to have the hardest time separating our stuff. The thought of him leaving me makes me feel anxious, because what if he is just here because I’m the only place he had to go. What if he doesn’t actually like me at all? Sure he said nice things earlier today, but he could’ve been lying. He’s probably lying. 

I must slow down drastically or show some emotion because Frank’s hand is on my forearm and he’s looking at me worriedly. “You alright Gee?” 

I plaster a fake smile over my face, the thoughts not leaving, and the dread just building in my stomach. “I’m fine, just nostalgic; I remember my dad playing some of these CDs when I was little,” I lie, without looking him in the eye. Lying to him makes me feel worse. This is why he hates me. A tiny part of me barely whispers in the back of my mind that it’s not really rational to think this, that it’s probably anxiety stuff; did I take my meds this morning? The little rational voice is easily ignored by the rest of my panicky self.

My answer seems to satisfy him because he returns to the work. “Yeah, I feel yah. I’m basically just walking nostalgia.”

I nod unenthusiastically. I feel disgusting and I only know of one way to get rid of that feeling. “Uh, would you mind if I took a shower right now?” I ask, not sure if I want to look more like I’m going to go jack off or cry where he can’t see me. Based on his big eyes I think he thinks it’s the latter option, and he isn’t too far off.

“Sure,” I’ll be in here,” he nods, finishing up with the CDs while I get clothes to change into, deciding pajamas are the way to go. I fumble around in my drawers, finding myself looking through my sock drawer, but I don’t want to wear socks. Then I hurry away from Frank’s eyes and obvious annoyance with me. 

I lock myself in the bathroom, turning the water on before stripping quickly. I don’t want to be suspicious, but I need time. I look at myself in the mirror for a while. God, I’m disgusting. I’m so fat. Look at those scars on my legs and some on my arms. I’m hideous. I bite back a sob and turn it into anger. I find the razor I hid in my sock drawer, because Mikey had found the one I had in the bathroom and made me promise to stop: I take it to my skin repeatedly. I cut until there’s more blood than skin. I cut until the sting in my thighs and hips is more distracting than the pain from my thoughts. I finally set the razor down on the counter and look at the cuts, blurry from the tears in my eyes; the cuts are beginning to drip blood down my legs. Fuck, how many cuts are there? I count, then recount to be sure. 15 new cuts. What does that make the total? Shit. Did I lose track? Some of the scars have faded to the point where I can’t tell if they’re scars anymore. Fuck. I cut a few more times in frustration. 

I feel dizzy so I stop, getting into the shower hurts. The water on the wounds is hell. But it’s nice to watch the blood mix with the water and disappear down the drain. I can’t see my tears, but they do the same thing. 

It’s really difficult to cry silently. My head aches as I step out of the shower, choosing my strategically red towel to dry myself off. My mom thinks it’s because I don’t want my hair dye to bleed, but that was only part of it. I press the towel to my legs to make sure they stopped bleeding. A few of the cuts are a bit deeper than normal so I cover them in Band-Aids. I pull my pajamas on and stare at my terribly chubby face in the mirror before going back out to Frank. My eyes are puffy, but not so much that it can’t be passed off for being from rubbing my face with a towel or something. I barely remember to hide the razor on top of the medicine cabinet. Hopefully Mikey won’t check today. 

I go back to Frank. I need him to hug me, but I also feel like he hates me. It makes me want to cry. Shit, I cannot cry. I force myself to have a straight face at the least when I walk back into my room. Frank beams at me, but my head is pounding from straining to keep my emotions in check and my legs burn. Fuck, am I dizzy? Maybe I lost a little too much blood. 

“Hey, Gee, two of my friends are free tomorrow so we can see em’,” he says, from where he’s sitting on the bed. “Are you alright?”

I shake my head, not having the strength to lie. Plus, in all the books this is where you yell at the characters to just talk about their problems. I don't want even more people to hate me, even if they aren't real.

He’s up in a second, coming over to me, wrapping his arms around me. “What’s wrong?” the tone of his voice completely changing from energetic to concerned. 

“My head hurts,” I say lamely, practically melting into him. I feel leaden, ridiculously heavy and it takes such an effort to move. 

Frank leads me to the bed, sitting me down. “Wanna lie down? I can get you medicine and a glass of water?” 

“Okay.” The part of me that was wondering about meds pipes up again. “Frank,” I add, he stops in the doorway. “I forgot to take my meds this morning.”

“Oh, should I get those too? Where are they?” he asks. 

I stand up because he probably doesn’t want to be doing this anyway. He just feels obligated to do it because I helped him that one time. “I can do it. Don’t worry.” I walk to the bathroom, with Frank trailing directly behind me. I find the bottles of pills and take them. Then I take pain meds. Then I try to take more, but Frank stops me. He takes my hands in his, making me drop the bottle that I was trying to open.

“Wanna go lie down, Gee?” he asks, as if he cares, trying to look into my eyes but I stare over his shoulder. “Do you want me to call Mikey?” 

“Don’t call Mikey, he worries too much,” I decide, and he nods. I sigh, waiting for the medicine to kick in. It’s hard to think when there’s a thick kind of pain that’s pressing against your skull, trying to make you explode. “Frank, my hips hurt. My head hurts too.”

“Mmm, let’s go lie down, yeah?” 

Why do I still feel like crying? “Okay,” I let out a tiny whisper. He pulls me back to my bedroom. 

“Your hips hurt?” Frank asks. 

I nod as he sits down on the bed and I lie down next to him. 

“Is there a reason they hurt or?” he asks gently, and I’m beginning to believe he might actually care. I really hope he cares. 

“Mmm, yeah, cuts tend to do that,” I explain simply. I can’t lie to him. “Don’t tell Mikey I relapsed.”

Frank’s look is indescribable. He looks so sad and worried. He’s almost worse than Mikey; Mikey cried one time, it’s hard to be worse than that. “Oh,” is all he says before practically laying on top of me, smothering me in a hug. Just his smell and warmth making me feel slightly better. “I won’t, Gee.”

I nod and hug him, not feeling so much like crying anymore. I feel empty and numb, but Frank’s warm and I cling to him, trying to share his heat until I can make my own. I match my breathing to the steady rise and fall of Frank’s chest. 

“Gee?” Frank mumbles from where his face is pressed into my neck. 

“Hm?”

“Tell me next time you feel that icky. I can help. I want to help,” and I believe that he does. “I’ll help you remember to take your meds. I’ll help with anything. Can we please throw away the razor?” 

“Okay,” I respond lamely. I don’t know what else to say. “Do you want to do that now?”

He nods, getting up, despite how me just sat down. He pulls me up and I lead him to the bathroom, where I climb onto the counter to take the razor down from its hiding spot. Frank is standing by the toilet. I join him there and quickly drop the razor before I can decide I don’t want to throw it away. I flush it down the toilet and we walk back to my room.

“How long have you really been clean?” I ask Frank.

“Like a day or two now,” Frank answers. “We’re in this together.”

I nod and stop walking to hug him tightly. It feels better to know I’m not the only one who’s messed up. “I was clean for a month until like an hour ago.”

“We can make it to a month,” he assures me, probably as much as he assures himself. “Then two, then three, then half a year, then an entire year, until we stop counting because we’ve spent so much more time not cutting than cutting.” The way he says it makes it feel possible. I nod when he pulls away and we share a melancholic smile. “Someday things will be alright.”

“I think it’s starting to get better already.” I pull myself against him again. I take in his warmth and he takes in mine, his arms wrapping around my waist, mine around his neck. “Things started to get better yesterday.” I don’t add ‘when I found you,’ but it goes without saying.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update because I need the story to be lighthearted again. I'll update again sometime soon this week.

I sit on the floor, leaning against the couch in between Frank’s legs, enjoying his want to play with my hair; it was soothing, even if sometimes he pulled on locks of my hair a little to hard. I close my eyes and let him reassure me that his friends are great and will love me. 

I had been worrying about that all morning, as well as a good portion of last night. We tried to get to bed earlier than 3:00am but neither of us could sleep, so we watched whatever cartoons were on TV, as soon as we were sure my mother was safely asleep. So naturally, we spent hours laughing at childish cartoons and eating ice cream. Mikey had come home late and was still sleeping, and we’d just gotten up at 10:00, though I was awake much before that. But, it is much easier to sleep with Frank beside me, even better that he was more on top of me than beside me; he starts the night off mildly reserved but ends up sprawled across most of the bed, and me, by the time we wake. 

This morning he was hugging me almost protectively when I woke and by the time he woke up I had curled up against his chest. We spent a good half an hour in bed, mostly because Frank was the worst at waking up, but also because we were really warm and comfortable and it’s difficult to build up the willpower to stop being so comfy. Plus Frank was sore from running into the railing of the fire escape. He reminded me to take my meds, and then we made coffee and ate toast quietly so as not to wake my family. I was nervous about choosing clothes to wear, so I made Frank pick an outfit out for me. He chose something similar to what I would’ve worn anyway; a pair of grayish black jeans and a Bikini Kill shirt that I wear proudly. Frank ends up wearing black skinny jeans and one of my countless band shirts. We try to do each other’s makeup again and Frank looks less like a raccoon than he did yesterday. 

He separates portions of my hair, combing through knots with his fingers, and twists them; I begin to wonder if he isn’t just playing with my hair. 

“Done,” he mumbles under his breath and I stop feeling tugs in my hair.

I sit up, automatically bringing a hand up to my head. “What did you do?” I ask, feeling the twisted pieces of hair that formed a weird braid on my head.

“I made you fabulous,” Frank grins at me as I turn to face him. “You look so cute.” 

“Thanks, but I’m fabulous even without cute braided hair,” I return the smile though, I stand to go to the bathroom to look at my hair in the mirror, only slightly disappointed when Frank doesn’t follow me. I examine my hair in the mirror, marveling at how it makes my face look so different when my hair is pulled back like this, but with stray pieces framing my face. It makes me look girlish. The way Frank did my eyeliner this morning adds to the feminine effect. I love it. “When did you learn to braid like this?” I call, still standing in the bathroom, trying to see the back of my hair better. “It’s great. I love it.”

“I don’t know, one of my friends taught me a while ago,” he answers, probably from on the couch. 

“Am I meeting them today?” I ask, beginning to become nervous about this again; a heavy sense of dread sits in my stomach and I need to see Frank again, so he can tell me it’s going to be okay. I leave the bathroom after a final glance at myself in the mirror, but now my eyebrows are raised in the first sign to others of my panicking state. 

“No, Jamia’s not coming today. We’re gonna see Ray and Bob at the coffee shop for a little, then we can go home or keep hanging out with them,” Frank runs through the plan again, knowing it will calm me down to know what’s going to happen, and pats the couch next to him as I come out of the bathroom. I flip over the back of the couch, sitting upside down next to Frank for a moment, before shifting around and putting my head in his lap. “But, I do have to take a picture of your hair to show her. You can take it out before we go to get coffee.” Normally he’d play with my hair, but because he doesn’t want to ruin it immediately, he pats my cheek lightly a few times before resting his hands on the couch next to his legs. 

“Yeah, I’ll take it out before we meet your friends,” I decide. “You all have old man names.”

“Yes, says Gerard,” Frank makes a good point. “You’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I shrug. “What time are we going?” 

“At 1:00, we’ll leave in half an hour,” Frank responds, excitedly. “It’ll be fun, Gee. Now sit up so I can take a picture of your hair.” I sit up and he takes a few pictures on his phone, some of the back of my head, some of my face, but I raise my hands to my face nervously when he tries to do that. Then his fingers begin to work at my hair again, taking it down. I sit with my back facing him on the couch, hugging my knees to my chest. I just want to lie back on him.

“You should have told me about your hair-braiding talents so we could’ve had the full sleepover experience,” I joke, leaning back against his crossed legs a little. I like being close to him, which I’ve only been able to do for the past couple of days, but I’ve already have felt better than I have for a long time, if you don’t count that one breakdown. I don’t count it. I’m pretending it didn’t happen. I wonder if that’s love. But people say that’s feeling butterflies and getting nervous around them. I’ve not felt that way around Frank; but he makes me feel happy and I’m comfortable around him. Maybe it isn’t love, but it’s probably better than love if love is just nerves. 

“It would only be a full sleepover experience with more than two people, movies, ice cream, and truth or dare. Maybe next weekend?” He asks hopefully. I nod, excited and slightly nervous. I don’t have any friends to invite, but maybe after today I would. He’s still playing with my hair, but it feels like he already took the braid out, and is just playing absentmindedly. So I move around and lie down with my head in his lap so I can look at him. He pats my cheek, smiling warmly at me. 

I smile back at him. “Mikey could invite his serial killer bassist over too.”

“Definitely, a party is not complete without a serial killer, and also a jam session,” he jokes. 

“It could be a ‘school is almost over’ sleepover, or maybe more of a ‘we survived school, we can survive one serial killer,’” I turn onto my side, my cheek resting on the middle of his thigh and my back pressed against the back of the couch. I tap my fingers against his knee absentmindedly and he twists his fingers in and out of my hair. 

“Oh sure, we can definitely take one serial killer. You, me, Mikey, maybe some of the friends we see today, if we wanna do the jam session thing,” 

“Speaking of Mikey,” Mikey interrupts before I can even speak. “I’m here.” I move my head a little to look at him, but he’s waggling his eyebrows at me and winking, so I sit up. Affection is fine, great even, but not when there are other people around, and definitely not when my little brother is shipping us. Frank looks a little sad that I’m not currently touching him, but he’ll just have to deal for a little while. “What are you guys doing today?” 

“I’m force Gee to make new friends,” Frank flashes a grin at Mikey, who plops into a chair in front of us. 

“Wow, good luck,” Mikey snorts, and I give him a half-hearted glare, because I really am hopeless when it comes to socializing. My little brother is literally my best friend. 

“Yeah, I could use all the help I can get,” Frank smirks at me, because he’s inviting my brother to hang out with us. “You wanna come with? You can invite your serial killer bassist if you want?” 

“Dude, would you mind if I came? Pete’s busy today, but maybe you guys can meet him some time,” Mikey doesn’t display his emotions well, but I can tell he’s excited.  
As he’s my best friend and my social crutch, along with Frank in both aspects, I’m also excited. 

“Yeah, we should leave for the café like now,” Frank decides, standing up and I hop up as soon as he does; a wave of nervousness washes over me but I try to ignore it. I have the two people who are the most helpful for my anxiety with me. Everything will be okay. But you can’t just rationalize yourself out of being scared. Mikey hops up; thankfully he was already dressed in actual clothes rather than pajamas. 

Mikey leads the way because I really don’t want to go first and Frank hangs back with me, touching my forearm briefly. “Feeling alright?” he asks, face tilted down towards the ground, and slightly towards me.

“Just fabulous,” I deadpan, but smile a little, because I’m alright. I can handle meeting two new people.

He returns the smile and we all walk to the coffee shop, Mikey no longer leading. Instead we all walk together, talking about everything from coffee to bassists who are probably not serial killers, probably. 

“He’s like 5 feet tall, he’s too tiny to be a serial killer,” Mikey argues, opening the door to the café. I make Frank go in first, and follow close behind him.

“I bet there are serial killer hobbits though,” I joke. 

“You can’t base homicidal tendencies on height,” Frank joins in. “For instance, I am basically a hobbit, but sometimes I feel like slitting someone’s throat, I mean, what?”

I shake my head as if disappointed but laugh, and then look around the café for Frank’s friends. There are two people sitting in a corner, waving at Frank, so I go out on a limb and guess they’re the people we’re meeting. The one looks friendly and is smiling widely at us, and has huge hair. The other guy gives a little wave but is a bit more stoic and reserved. Frank is grinning and walking over, I follow directly behind him, trying to stay where they can’t really see me. I can feel my shoulders rising slightly like they do when I get nervous. Mikey adopts a similar walk to mine, because we’re both anxiety-ridden dorks, except he corrects himself and plays it off by stuffing his hands in his pockets. I’m just hunching up to make myself smaller, or whatever my instincts think will help me.

Frank is already there talking and gesturing, but my brain is shutting down and I’m shaking. I hear my name and I smile nervously, trying to listen to what they’re saying. 

“Gee, Mikey, this is Ray,” Frank motions to the guy with the afro. “This is Bob,” he motions to the blond guy. “Guys, this is Gerard and his brother Mikey.” 

“Hello,” Ray beams at me and holds his hand out to shake. I shake his hand quickly and not so subtly take a step behind Frank. Bob just smiles briefly at me, watching me hide behind the tiny boy. Mikey is shaking Ray’s hand, not really smiling, but being friendly anyway. 

“Wanna go get something to drink, Gee?” Frank asks me. 

“Can you get me a coffee? You know how I like it, Gee,” Mikey asks, sitting down next to Ray.   
I nod. “Yeah.” 

Frank takes my sweaty hand in his normal hand, not minding mine, and pulls me away from them. “How’re you holding up?” he asks. “Want me to order everything?” 

“I’m alright. I’ll get better when we start talking and stuff, I think,” I answer. We wait behind a couple in line. “Yeah, if you don’t mind,” I tell him what Mikey and I want. 

I take a few deep breaths, standing behind Frank as he orders, though we’re still holding hands. I have to let go of his hand to carry my drink as well as Mikey’s, but I’m feeling pretty calm by the time we have to go back to the table and when we do Frank sits on the edge of his chair with his leg pressed against mine, so it’s okay. Mikey is holding his own in conversation with Ray, Bob putting in a word or two here and there. 

I slide the coffee across the table to Mikey and take a tiny sip of mine before deciding I probably wouldn’t get third degree burns from drinking it, and taking a gulp. “Coffee is probably the best thing that’s happened to me,” I say quietly, but no one was currently saying anything so I’m heard.

“Same,” Bob agrees, taking a sip of his own drink.

Mikey nods enthusiastically. “I’d probably be dead without it.”

“What would life be without a severe caffeine addiction?” Frank jokes, clutching his cup of coffee his life depends on it. 

“Maybe that’s why you’re so short,” I tease, hiding behind my coffee a little bit. “You had too much caffeine and it stunted your growth.”

“Whatever, it’s definitely worth it,” Frank pauses to take a gulp of his coffee. “Plus how does that work out for you and Mikey then? And Ray and Bob for that matter.”

“I think Frank’s just a Hobbit,” Ray shrugs. “It’s just in your DNA to be a tiny man.”

Frank graciously flips us all off. I laugh and everyone begins to laugh as well. 

“So,” Ray starts the conversation up again after it died down into comfortable silence for a bit. “Frank tells me you sing and play piano?” 

“Well, I mean not very well,” I scramble to answer. 

“What do you mean not well?” Mikey interrupts before Frank can even contradict me. “You’re fucking amazing.” 

Frank nods eagerly. “You really are great, Gee.”  
I make a face like I’m giving up and shrug. 

Ray smiles at me. He’s like the nicest person I’ve talked to in a while. 

“We need a vocalist and a bassist for our band,” Bob says. 

“I play bass,” Mikey practically dies to get out.

“Dude,” I’m not even sure who says that, I’m focusing on my coffee again. 

“We could start a band,” Frank dreams aloud about the band. How we could practice sometime soon, get really good magically and tour this summer. He talks about how he already has some songs written, and that I have at least one, and how we should definitely work on it. He speaks so passionately that I’m actually into the idea. 

“We should definitely start a band,” I agree. Everyone nods. Are we starting a band?

“We should have our first practice sometime this week to get things together,” Ray speculates.

“Friday maybe?” Bob asks. “Unless you guys don’t care about failing finals because we’re gonna be starting a band.”

“How about we shoot for Wednesday and Friday. Text me if you can’t make it,” Frank decides.

“At our house?” Mikey asks. “We have a mostly empty garage.”

I nod and that settles it. We’re going to start a band on Wednesday in my garage.


	7. Chapter 7

We had spent a good couple of hours just talking to Ray and Bob. We got back home by the time my mom had dinner ready, but her presence made the meal a little awkward. She kept talking about school, despite how uncomfortable and unhappy the subject made Frank and probably the entire teenage population of the world. It was decided that I would drive Frank to school on Monday, which I ended up doing, despite how many times he told me he could just walk. He insisted on walking back from school though. 

We spent this afternoon doing schoolwork and studying for finals, which started that day and we probably should’ve studied on Monday, but who really cares? It turns out we’re terrible a studying, especially together. Frank decided he needed a guitar break like 10 minutes in and I wanted to watch and listen to him. Then once we got back to studying I had an idea for a drawing and so I stopped to sketch. Then Frank complained about studying and school until we both decided that finals aren’t that important anyway. So we lazed around, Frank absentmindedly picking at the strings of his guitar as we talked about comics mostly. I sketched a lot, mostly Frank. I still don’t think I can show him the one sketchbook though. It’s just creepy. I didn’t know him well enough at the time that I drew him.

Frank finally decided to formally give up on finals and went to go take a shower. I sit on my bed, looking through my sketchbook, the one from years ago when I first met Frank. They’re all at least halfway decent, but they aren’t my best work, not because I wasn’t the best artist, though my style has greatly improved since then, but I never could quite capture who he was in the drawings. I had false ideas of who Frank Iero was, that changed every time I met him, because I learned new information or mannerisms, but I never really knew him. Lately I’ve been getting to know him better; I’ve been much better at drawing him, the way his eyes shine with passion when he’s talking about music or the band, the way he rolls his eyes when someone says something stupid, and the exact way he smiles in different situations. My old sketches aren’t bad; they just lack emotion and personality.

I leave the sketchbook open on the bed next to me and look through some of my newer drawings of him. Ones of him doing things he actually does rather than what I imagine he would do. They actually feel like Frank. One of him headbanging while playing guitar, one of him cutting a pizza terribly with his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, and one of him standing on the fire escape, terrified. Despite the fact that they are relatively quick and simple sketches, they are better than my more detailed drawings from a year or two ago.

I compare drawings for a little, interested in how tiny the differences were but how huge of an impact they had on the drawing as a whole. Then Frank walks through the door and I panic. How do I hide the drawings inconspicuously? Despite the fact that my brain thinks the best answer is to flail around and try to pull a blanket over them Frank notices. “Hey, Gee. Whatcha got there?” he asks, falling into bed and rolling to look at me.

“Pshhh, what are you talking about?” I reply, because I am great under pressure.

“Good god, Gee,” Frank rolls his eyes at me. “If it’s drawings can I look at them? I love your art so much. You’re really amazing.”

“Uh, yeah, I mean they’re drawings but,” I sigh, pulling out the sketchbook and a few loose papers. “I don’t know. Whatever.” I hand them too him, and can feel myself blushing before he even has a second to look at them. My mind was already going to the worst-case scenario; he’ll think I’m ridiculously creepy and will leave me. He’ll leave with his dreams that had become my own. I hug my knees to my chest, holding myself together and preparing for the worst. I don’t even look at him, but I can hear him slowly leafing through the papers. 

“When did you draw these?” he asks, his voice lacking the edge I expected it to have. He just sounds pleasantly surprised. 

I look over at him, peeking over my arms that I was hiding my face behind. He looks up at me with a benevolent smile on his face. “Uh, well I started drawing you the day I met you, so from two years ago until now,” I answer quietly. “I know it’s weird, I…” I plop my face down onto my knees and bring my arms up again. 

“No, it’s not weird,” Frank scoots over to me. “I’m flattered, Gee. I- you,” he lets out an impatient breath. “It means the world to me that you see me as something worthy of being drawn, and not just once either.” 

“Well yeah, you’re beautiful, Frank,” I mumble, but he can hear me from where he’s leaning on my shoulder. “But not the conventional just pretty deal, you’re interesting, you have depth. You’re art.” I begin to lift my head as we speak, and end up leaning it against Frank’s head.

He’s looking at the drawings again. “Do you really think so?” 

“Yeah,” I slip my arm around his shoulders, almost sure he’s actually okay with everything. 

“Can you tell me about the drawings?” he pulls away just enough so I can see the trail a tear left down his cheek. I barely brush my lips against his cheek in the faintest hint of a kiss, but the brightness it brings to his face is unmistakable. 

“Sure,” I scoot back on the bed, stretching out and propping myself up on some pillows, patting the bed right next to me. Frank curls up against me and I hold the loose drawings on my lap while he flips the pages in the sketchbook. I explain as he goes through; that one is you if you were in a horror movie, that one is you smoking in the cemetery, and that’s your hands playing guitar and holding a cup of coffee. 

He nods and asks the occasional question, like why I decided to draw the piece in general or why I’d have a certain detail. Other than Mikey, no one’s ever taken this much interest in my sketches or been so supportive. 

Then we get into the newer pictures I drew and I’m actually more or less happy with them. They don’t just look like Frank; they are Frank. I talk about these more enthusiastically. When I run out of drawings to talk about I snuggle down into the blankets and Frank’s chest. “You’re really amazing Gee,” Frank informs me. 

“Thanks, you are too,” I reply, really taking his compliment to heart. He wraps his arms around me and I lie on him listening to his heartbeat. 

“You really drew me when we had just met?” he asks.

“Er, yeah,” I answer awkwardly, still uncomfortable about that. “You were pretty and I don’t know.” I bury my face in his shirt.

“I was pretty? What about now?” he pretends to be offended.

“Fucking gorgeous and adorable. I don’t know how you pull it off.”

“Really? Because it really looks like you know the secrets of being ridiculously attractive.”

It’s a good thing I’m hiding in his shirt because I’m sure I’m blushing to the point that my face is a deeper red than my hair. “I might know like one tip or something, but you wrote the guidebook to being hot.”

“That was a pretty good metaphor, are you sure you didn’t write it?” I definitely don’t giggle nope.

“Maybe I wrote it about you?” 

He just laughs, pressing his lips to the top of my head, and then he wriggles around until we’re face to face and I can’t hide in his chest anymore. I slide my hands up his chest and rest one on his neck as he places a hand on my cheek, leaning in closer to me. For a second I think he’s going to kiss me, and I’m okay with that, but instead he presses his forehead to mine and stares into my eyes. Our lips are mere inches apart, which might cause most people to go insane, but that just isn’t the vibe I’m getting from him. I gaze back. I’m okay with this too. After a little I close my eyes, because sometimes too much eye contact is nerve wracking and I don’t want to ruin the easy calm feeling between us.

“Do you ever think about how lucky it was that we kept meeting?” he finally breathes into our tiny, shared bubble of space. I open my eyes to find him looking at me again. 

“At one point I was sure it was fate,” I answer. “But the idea of not being able to choose were I want to go in life makes me angry, so I don’t believe in fate.”

“Luck? Do you believe in luck?” Frank asks, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“It’s just a word we use to describe how there are a lot of good or bad things happening to us. You can’t risk getting bad luck or whatever by breaking a mirror,” I answer slowly, after careful thought. 

“Hmm. So what’s your explanation for us running into each other repeatedly?” he doesn’t sound at all skeptical of my thoughts, just genuinely curious. Most people would be annoyed with me and my denial and disbelief.

“Either you were stalking me, I was subconsciously stalking you, or crazy coincidences just happened.”

“I might have been trying to find you a little bit,” Frank laughs, gently blowing air into my face. “I don’t know. It’s so unlikely that it could just be coincidences.”

“Which makes everything all the more exciting and special.”

He caresses my cheek with his thumb and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good before, at least not in the warm good kind of feeling, which I suppose can be called love. There’s the other kind of good feeling, the cool, simple, I’m-just feeling-alright, freedom kind. But, this is soft and so comfortable. Frank is so warm and safe. I ignore the possibility that he was going to kiss me and tuck my head down beneath his chin. “Mm,” he says, because we are both just very well spoken and articulate. 

I hesitate for a second before I brush my lips against his neck in a lazy kiss that’s barely a kiss at all. Despite the fact that it’s hardly a kiss, or maybe because of it, Frank sighs and tilts his head to the side slightly so that I could kiss his neck easier, but I don’t think want to do that. I mean, part of me really really does, but most of me loves this mood and passionate neck sucking would definitely change the soft, comfortable, and lazy tone. So I just take the opportunity to nuzzle into his neck and he takes the hint, pressing himself to me in the cuddliest of ways.

I can’t help it, I feel so good right now. He understands how I’m feeling and feels the same way. I can’t help but say, “I love you.” I mumble my words into his neck. Then I realize what I just said. The magnitude of the three syllables that just slipped out of my mouth dawns on me. I just ruined everything didn’t I?

But he just presses his mouth to the top of my head, in a quick kiss, “I love you too.” 

Now I’m just dying. He strokes my hair and nothing changes. Nothing suddenly becomes romantic and awkward. Does that mean it isn’t really love? I still don’t understand that. People tell me that for it to be love you have to feel butterflies and get nervous, but that doesn’t seem at all pleasant to me. Shouldn’t you feel completely at ease with someone you love? Shouldn’t you feel better when you’re with them, rather than being nervous? 

“Frank?” I ask, because he can probably clear this up. I would generally go to Mikey for help, but that might turn into getting teased about Frank, and I don’t really want Mikey to know more about love than I do. He’s younger than me and I should have more experience, but that’s probably not true if I feel the need to go to him to explain love to me.

“Yeah?” He stops tapping his fingers against my back and pulls back a to look at me.

I suddenly get nervous and unsure of what I was asking. I can deal with not knowing. “Uh, never mind. It’s nothing,” I say quickly, trying to tuck myself away into the curve of his body, but he pushes me away.

“No, what is it Gee?” He frowns at me, trying to read my face for clues, if he did something wrong. But that isn’t the problem. If I don’t say anything he’s going to think he made a mistake. He might draw back, trying not to make things worse. I can’t have that. “You can talk to me about anything,” he reiterates.

“I don’t know it’s kind of embarrassing,” I avoid looking into his eyes because he’s trying to look into my soul to figure out how I’m feeling. 

“I won’t judge you,” Frank assures me. “I’m like the king of embarrassing.”

This provokes a smile from me and I look up from his chest to his eyes, finding they regard me affectionately and softly, not the harsh, calculating look I expected. “I just- I don’t understand love,” I finally spit out, after stumbling through syllables, trying to find appropriate phrasing.

“What about it?” he asks, his expression softening even more once he’s sure he did nothing wrong. 

“I don’t know. People talk about feeling fluttery and stuff when they’re in love, but I’ve never felt like that?” 

“Mmm, well, I’ve never been great at feelings and stuff,” he pauses, thinking, “but I think the whole butterfly thing is bullshit. I’ve never really felt like that for anyone. I feel like that would be more of a sexual thing anyway. If you feel that weird it’s gotta be your hormones, and I don’t want all of my feelings just to be some chemical reaction in me. That’s just like your body saying, ‘hey, I’d like to reproduce with that person.’ That’s not love; it’s lust. 

“I think love would be like genuinely enjoying their company, loving their personality, and not necessarily wanting to bang them like a screen door in a hurricane. I don’t think platonic love rules out kissing and stuff. It’s intimate, but not just because of physical attraction, it’s like emotional and intellectual.” He doesn’t really look at me while explaining, his eyes fixate on a point behind me as he thinks while speaking. Then when he’s done he smiles at me. “Does that clear anything up or?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve just always thought love would be more like someone that makes you feel really good, not uncomfortable and nervous, but no one ever says that.” I shrug and roll onto my back to look at the ceiling. 

“Yes, they make it seem like the most important kind of love ends in sex and stuff, or is at least romantic, but they completely devalue platonic love and it’s so important.” He moves to lie next to me and intertwines his fingers with mine. It’s slightly less warm than having him on top of me, but just as nice.

“So, you actually love me?” I blurt out. “Like in the nice way… Not just like for sex.”

“Only if you feel the same about me,” he answers cautiously, letting his head fall to the side so he could look at me. I do the same and we just look at each other for a moment. He’s biting his lower lip slightly, as if he’s nervous about my answer, and doubting that I will in fact say yes.

I nod and can’t help but smile when his face lights up. 

“Then yeah, I love you. But,” he pauses and I rise my eyebrows at him, not so much worried but confused as to how there could be a but to this situation. He begins to smirk, which looks really hot with his lip ring and face in general. He’s got killer eyebrows. “I wouldn’t rule out sex,” he winks at me.

I blush like I’m a professional tomato. “Oh, I-“ I hide behind my hands, still clutching one of his though, but that’s more to hide behind so I hide behind three hands and he doesn’t complain. I’m just really flustered and unprepared for this conversation; we haven’t even kissed properly yet.

“But, we definitely don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Frank rushes, his cheeks turning pink as he speaks now. He turns to look at the ceiling again.

I press my lips to his hand and smile at him. “Speaking of sex, want to go eat ice cream?” 

“What the hell does ice cream have in common with sex?” Frank asks, laughing. 

“Well, I’m assuming they’re both nice? I don’t know am I holding sex in too high of standards?” I’m sure I’m blushing again, but play it off with more ridiculousness.  
“Depends on what kind of ice cream,” Frank is still laughing. 

“Whatever kind you want, I’m taking you out, fucker,” I decide. 

“I’m in my pajamas!” Frank protests halfheartedly. 

“Same. We can put on a jacket and go walk to a place down the street. It’ll be fun!” I roll out of bed and am slightly disappointed in the lack of warmth there is when I’m not in bed with Frank.

“It’s almost midnight, Gee,” Frank points, out but he’s up and beaming.

“Good observation,” I go to my dresser and pull out two big sweatshirts. I toss one at him and he catches it with his face. “Come on, Frankie,” I say whilst pulling a sweatshirt over my head and completely messing up my hair. I remember my wallet a second before we leave my bedroom hand in hand.

It’s easy to sneak out of the house because my mom is at work and Mikey is playing music in his room. Still, we don’t talk on the way out of the house, except for me to tell Frank that he’s adorable, especially in sweatshirts that are way too big for him.

Once we get outside Frank jumps on me, and while I’m stumbling under his weight I come to the conclusion that night air and love are intoxicating. I manage to not fall over and die, and I carry Frank all the way to the ice cream shop, despite his weight. We get to the ice cream shop a few minutes before it closes, and we both get ice cream cones and decide to eat in a park and stargaze. It might be cheesy but cheese is good most of the time. 

We sit on a bench because when I said we should lie in the grass Frank pointed out that it’s impossible to eat ice cream and lay down at the same time. So frank leans on my shoulder and we eat in silence for a while. “So I’m not like an expert on sex or anything, but I would consider myself something of an expert on ice cream, and this is pretty fucking good,” I decide.

“I agree,” Frank already finished his and is just leaning on me now. 

“Mmm,” I reply through a mouthful of cone and ice cream, as I am finishing up. 

“Are you done yet? I wanna look at the stars,” Frank turns his head to look at me finish up. 

I swallow. “Yeah, okay.” 

He hops up and grabs my hand, I expect him to pull me along like a hyper puppy, but instead he walks as close to me as he can, our shoulders and arms brushing against each other repeatedly. We walk through the park, under a canopy of trees, until we come upon a small clearing and we sit down. I lie back and gaze up at the stars. The light pollution from the city makes it difficult to see any, but I might see one? “Is that a star?” I ask Frank, who’s lying right next to me in the grass.

“Where?”

“There,” I point.

“I don’t see it.”

“Kind of by that leaf?” Trying to explain where a tiny light of a star is in the vast inky blackness of the night sky is virtually impossible. 

“I think that’s an airplane?” 

“It’s not moving is it?” I frown at the star.

“I don’t know. It’s not blinking, maybe it’s a satellite?” 

“Why can’t it just be star?” I huff.

“Pshhh, it’s definitely a star. What do you mean stars don’t move? That is a star. What is a satellite even? Those don’t exist,” Frank amends and I laugh at the ridiculous tone of his voice. “It’s a star.”

“Ah, we have to make a wish, right? What’s the rhyme thing?”

“Um.”

“It’s like maybe star shining brighter than my future, possibly a satellite, give me a goddamn wish,” I improvise because I can’t recall that piece of my childhood.

“Sounds legit,” Frank chuckles. 

“Pshh, definitely. Okay, don’t say your wish out loud because it won’t come true but: Maybe star shining brighter than my future,” I start and Frank joins in. “possibly a satellite, give me a goddamn wish.” 

Then Frank says, “Hey, my wish came true!” 

“Really? What was it?” I ask excitedly.

“To be happy,” Frank squeezes my hand slightly. “I’m happy right now.”

I’m grinning like an idiot, so it takes me a while to get my lips to cooperate with my want to kiss his forehead. “I’m glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry this took so long to update. I wrote the chapter and hated it so I scrapped it and started again.  
> I'll try to update sooner next time.  
> Also I kind of made them have asexual tendencies. I don't know.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super short update with more to come soon! Like actually soon, not 2 weeks, I promise.

We lie in silence for a while, staring off into the void. I’m starting to feel a slight chill so I press myself closer to Frank. His body trembles slightly. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” he admits sheepishly. 

“Me too,” I get to my feet, and immediately pull him into a tight hug. He presses himself to me, his body fitting nicely against my own. His arms slip around my waist but I think most of the warmth comes from his lips on my neck, though they’re barely present, mostly just brushing the occasional ghost of a kiss against my skin. “Wanna go home?” 

“No,” Frank sighs into my neck. “Can we just run away?” 

“Sure,” I kiss the top of his head. I’ve been becoming less frugal with my kisses, but I don’t t know if I want to actual kiss him properly yet. I’m not ready for that. “But after Friday because we have band practices and stuff that’ll be fun.” 

“Okay,” he reluctantly agrees. 

“Plus we’re almost done with school and everything.”

“But there’s still school and school still sucks.”

“True. But we’re so close to graduating.”

“Yeah,” he sighs again. “Okay, we can go home now.” 

We walk hand in hand back to my house, stopping frequently to appreciate the darkness of the night sky or the aesthetic of a run down house in the street lights. It’s mostly me stopping him to look, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He nods enthusiastically at my observations and adds his own comments. But then after he speaks, pointing out something new, we continue walking before I can finish processing everything so I look over cool things because I’m staring at him. Normally, I would find that troublesome, but it’s worth it with Frank. Plus, he would end up pointing something else out like an abandoned glove or how the light glints off of broken glass that littered the sidewalk that I fail see because I was too busy beaming at him. 

Because of how often we pause, it takes a while to get back home. When we finally climb up the steps to the front door and I fumble around in my pocket to get the key out, I want so badly to kiss him right now. He’s standing with his arms wrapped around his own body, trying not to shiver, and biting his lip. I want nothing more than to feel the warmth of his lips on my own, to feel the cool metal of his lip ring with my tongue, and to kiss him until we’re both breathless. But, now isn’t the time. It might be the perfect ending to a typical first date, but we’d have to go into the same house, into the same room. You need time to reflect on stuff like that and dance blissfully around the room where no one can see your joy. There’s a time and a place to have a first kiss, but as far as I can tell, this isn’t it. 

I finally manage to open the door and I follow close behind Frank as he steps inside. We creep silently back to my room, not wanting to disturb the rest of my family. Once safely behind the closed door of my bedroom, Frank doesn’t even hesitate to wriggle out of the sweatshirt and fall into bed. I am slower to get into bed, mostly because I keep pausing to yawn.

“We’re going to regret this tomorrow,” I groan, climbing into bed with him. Though, not even close to him at this point. 

“Nah, maybe we’ll be tired and wish we could’ve woken up later, but we won’t regret this,” Frank reasons, before rolling on top of me and hugging me around my neck. “You shouldn’t regret a first date. That is, if you want to consider it that.”

“Oh,” I can’t deny that I was wondering if that was what it was, but it seems like it was a bit too spontaneous to be an actual date. “It was a pretty rad first date,” I decide and grin at the giddy smile that lights up his face when I use the term. He settles on my chest, still hugging me tightly, maybe trying to hide the ridiculously happy smile. 

“It really was,” he agrees through a massive yawn.

“So what does that make us?” I ask hesitantly, because being able to call Frank my boyfriend would pretty much make me die of happiness, but I don’t know how dating works. How many dates do you have to go on for it to be official? 

“Gee, do you wanna be my boyfriend?” Frank asks into my neck as cute and sleepily as possible. 

I can’t think of a good way to answer so I settle with, “Yeah, yeah, wow. Yes.” My face is getting really warm and I’m grateful for the fact that it’s the middle of the night. 

Frank laughs sleepily into my neck. “Night, Gee,” he says right before he presses a kiss to my cheek then snuggles against me.

“Goodnight, Frankie,” I’m grinning like an idiot and am insanely happy, but I have to sleep. So I close my eyes and focus on how nice it is to be so close to Frank until I begin to drift off.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo I actually got a chapter done yeah woo
> 
> I have more study hall periods this quarter so I might be able to update more frequently?

Despite how many times I woke up in Frank’s arms in the last few days, I still wasn’t used to it. It was nice, except for Frank’s alarm blaring the Misfits. I don’t hesitate to kiss him, pressing my lips to his neck, which was the closest part of him that I was comfortable with kissing. I don’t think I want to initiate our first actual kiss.

“Mm, hello,” Frank yawns sleepily without actually opening his eyes. 

“Turn off your alarm,” I reply in the same groggy tone. I watch him begin to wake, opening his hazel eyes just a little at first, blinking a few times before rubbing his eyes adorably.

“Ugh,” Frank searches for his phone without turning to actually see it. He eventually gives up on staying in bed, gets up, and stops the music, which was good music, just not at 7:00am when it’ll wake up everyone in the house. He collapses back onto the bed and across my stomach, knocking the wind out of me but somehow avoiding actually hurting me. “It’s too early to be up,” he complains in a voice muffled by blankets. 

“Would coffee help?” I ask wheezily, while trying to regain my breath.

“Yeah, probably.”

“You have to get off of me if you want coffee,” I huff, halfheartedly trying to push him off of me.

“No,” he whines, but shifts his weight into what seems like will be an effort to get off of me but he just moves to hug me around the waist. “You’re warm and smell nice and maybe if we just stay here time will stop and there will be no more consequences.”

“I wish.” I don’t have the energy to make him get off of me, nor do I really want him to, so instead I wrap my arms around him.

“I have to be at school in less than an hour,” Frank states after a minute, squeezing me a little tighter. 

“Yup.”

“I should probably get up,” he sighs when I nod. “Come on Gee, let’s make coffee.”

He releases me, so I let go of him, but as soon as we’re standing and walking he envelops me in a hug and walks ridiculously close to me, making it difficult to move, but I’m not complaining. We stop by the bathroom so I can take my meds; Frank watches me closely to be sure that I actually swallow them. Soon enough, we’re in the kitchen. 

I get stuff ready for coffee while Frank tries to play with my hair. “Can you just like bend down a little?” he asks, as he can’t see the top of my head. 

“That requires effort and that is not happening before coffee.” 

“Fine.” He stops playing with my hair and I’m a little more than slightly disappointed. But his hands aren’t absent from my body long, as I find myself being pulled back against the counter by my hips. 

“What-“ I begin to protest.

“Shh, hold on.” His legs press against my sides from behind me. “I got tall, let me make you pretty,” Frank explains from where he sits on the counter directly behind me. 

“I thought I already was pretty.” 

“At this early in the morning, not so much,” Frank jokes, but I pout nonetheless.

“Hey, you should see yourself,” I complain, beginning to pull away from him, but he wraps his arms around my shoulders before I can. But if he saw himself he would really just think I looked terrible in comparison. He’s gorgeous and irresistibly cute with his bed head. 

“Let me make you even prettier?” he corrects himself questioningly, with his chin resting on my shoulder. 

“Yeah, ok, but let me get the coffee first.” He lets me go with a kiss on the cheek. I end up going a little to quickly in the coffee process and burn my hand on hot water, I yelp and run cold water over it in the sink, because I am the ultimate wimp when it comes to minor hand injuries. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it,” Frank announces in a comical voice, and I look up to see him scooting across the counter towards me.

“Has anyone told you that you’re a massive dork?” 

“Hey, I’m your massive dork now and I’m here to make your goddamn hand feel better.” He holds his hands out to take my hand and when I don’t immediately take my hand out of the water for him to hold, he makes grabby hands, “Gimme.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” I laugh, but let him kiss my hand.

“Yeah, whatever. It helped right?” he grins at me and awaits an answer.

“Yeah it feels better, and if you want, I’ll pretend it was because of you not that it wasn’t a bad burn to begin with or the whole cold water thing.” 

“Are you making breakfast?” A familiar voice asks and I look at Frank, who makes a face like ‘I am not a ventriloquist, dipshit.’ So I turn around, Frank still holding on to my hand. 

Mikey is standing there nervously picking at his t-shirt, hair ruffled, and glasses sitting crookedly on his nose. I pull away from Frank who remains perched on the counter. “Coffee,” I answer and his face lights up when I offer him a cup, knowing the caffeine addiction us Ways have I made enough for the three of us, I had made enough coffee for the three of us to drink. 

“Thanks, Gee,” Mikey gets out before disappearing behind the mug.

“No trouble dude,” I smile and lean back against the counter next to Frank, who has taken the initiative to grab his own cup of coffee. 

“How’d you sleep, Mikey?” Frank asks chattily as if he doesn’t have to leave within half an hour so he won’t be late to school.

“Eh, alright,” he shrugs. “And you guys?”

“Same, I wish I could sleep in forever,” Frank answers before I can even raise my mouth from my mug of coffee. 

“Yeah, true,” Mikey agrees.

We don’t speak for a moment, all of us enjoying our coffee and finally beginning to wake up. “We’ve got band practice today though. That’s cool.”

“Oh yeah!” Mikey perks up at the mention of the band. “I was wondering if it would be ok for Pete to come over on Friday for our second band thing sleepover whatever the hell…”

“Definitely,” I answer, this time before Frank can.

“Maybe he can bring some of his friends too and it can be like an actual party?” Mikey asks, widening his eyes hopefully at me.

“I don’t see why not,” I answer, finding it impossible to not grin when he beams at me.

“Thanks, Gee! Also, you should probably get going Frank. You’re gonna be late,” Mikey points out before retreating to his bedroom with his coffee.

“Shit.”

Despite how much Frank rushes, he texts me saying he was late to school anyway. I don’t know how to respond so I don’t, focusing on my own schoolwork. Then he texts again saying he has a long lunch period due to finals so I should meet him at school with food. Being the hungry and in love with Frank guy I am, I only complain about making food and getting to the school in two texts before agreeing. 

I barely finish my tests before I have to make food for lunch. But I have no clue what to make. I decide I’ll purchase cookies from somewhere for lunch. Perfect. I don’t know what kind of an aesthetic we have going on for this lunch, so I decide an actual picnic would be too difficult so I leave the house with some money and a few minutes in which I’d have to sprint all the way to the school to meet Frank on time if I stopped to get cookies, and that’s what I end up doing. 

There are more students loitering around the school than I am comfortable with and I begin to shake as I try to find Frank quickly, whilst trying to text him about my arrival at the same time. I yelp and shrink up, dropping my phone and the bag of cookies in panic as someone slams into me, but then arms wrap around my waist and terror sets in before I register the sound, smell, and feel of Frank. 

“Oh my god,” I breathe out, trying to calm down. People are watching. I tell myself they don’t care. They aren’t watching me. They aren’t judging me. Why would they? “You scared me half to death, Frank.”

“I’m sorry, Gee,” Frank breaks the embrace, picking up my miraculously uncracked phone and the cookies, before pulling me to his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I should’ve known not to do that. It’s okay. Do you want to get away from everyone?” He murmurs soothingly to me, and I slowly calm down and nod. 

“It’s okay, Frank. I’m alright,” I manage to say in a flat tone, wanting to dispel the worry I see on his face, as I try not to hyperventilate.

He leads me away from everyone with his arm securely around my waist. As more and more distance is put between the crowd and us I begin to feel better. I realize he’s leading me to a playground and old, empty, and kind of sad looking playground. “My mom used to bring me here when I was little,” he explains, stopping in front of the swings. His stomach growls and I remember the food.

“I brought cookies for lunch,” I point to the bag he’s currently holding, which reminds him to hand me my phone. Suddenly, I’m worried he’ll not be satisfied with my food choice. I resent anxiety. He drops his arm from my side after a final tight squeeze.

“You’re the best,” his grin eases my anxiety, but I can’t shake the worry that maybe he’s lying to make me feel better. What if he doesn’t like me at all? I frown slightly and Frank notices, “Is something wrong?”  
I shake my head. 

“If there is something, anything at all, you can tell me,” Frank reasserts, whilst eating a cookie and passing one to me. I got the cookies with the most chocolate and they’re delicious but I have no appetite.

“I- I just feel like I’m bothering you,” I shrug, aggressively avoiding eye contact with him. “I know, it’s stupid but I can’t help it.”

Frank steps in front of me and I look up to his face for a second, but he gently catches my face in his hands, making me look at him. “Gee, you’re not bothering me,” he stares into my eyes with an intensity that should be unsettling, but it’s so benevolent, and he’s Frank, so it almost comforts me. His hands travel away from my face, pushing back my red hair and then clasping behind my neck, but I continue to look at him. “You never bother me. You could be trying to annoy me and you wouldn’t be bothering me at all. You’d have to like destroy my CDs and my guitar to actually make me angry with you. Okay?”

I nod, managing to push that thought out of my mind for the time being. His eyes crinkle up in a smile. He looks exhausted, it’s hard to tell if the darkness around his eyes is from a lack of sleep or yesterday’s smudged eyeliner, but he looks happy and I smile back. 

“C’mere,” he takes a step back, catching my hand and pulling me towards the playground. I stumble up the steps as he drags me behind him. “You’re not afraid of heights are you?”

“Not really?” 

“Good,” he drops my hand and begins to climb the sides of the playground onto a flat roof piece above one of the slides. 

“Fuck, Frank, I have no coordination. I’m going to fall and die,” I complain while clambering after him. 

“It’s like a 10 foot drop, that wouldn’t kill you,” Frank argues, peering over the plastic edge of the roof thing, his hair flopping into his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure 10 feet is a dangerous height. Even if it wasn’t, I’d be lucky enough to die.” I don’t think I can pull myself up there. “Like I’d stub my toe so horribly that I would die.”

Frank holds a hand out to me to help pull me up, I take it hesitantly, but he ends up helping me up without me killing the both of us. “You didn’t die. Achievement!” 

“Yet,” I complete his sentence.

“But you’re sitting down now,” Frank points out.

“So? I’m still the biggest klutz ever,” I respond and Frank shoves a cookie at me. I eat my cookie aggressively and Frank eats his considerably more slowly, watching me bemusedly. “What?”

“You’re such a fucking dork and I’m so happy right now,” Frank’s cheek flush pink and he bites his lip a little, trying not to grin like a maniac. He’s adorable.

“Likewise,” I respond, because I’m ridiculously articulate.

“Thanks, bud,” Frank moves suddenly and I reach out with a slightly delayed reaction to try to steady him, because I swear to god, if my boyfriend falls to his death I will do something probably. “Relax, I’m just lying down.” I understand this now that his head is safely in my lap and he’s smirking up at me. Though the way his legs dangle in the air makes me nervous.

“Oh,” my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. 

“And I would’ve fallen to my death, despite your valiant effort to save me, because your reflexes are a bit crap.”

“You can fuck off,” I pout.

“I love you too.” He grins at me. I pat his cheek affectionately and he turns to press a kiss to my hand.

“When do you have to get back to school?” 

“Probably 5 minutes because I’m having a good time and school only exists to ruin my good moods.” 

“Mmm.”

Frank checks his phone for the time. “I’ve got 20 minutes, like 5 more cookies, and a hot boyfriend. So many possibilities.”

“Yeah?” I twist my fingers in his hair gently, brushing it over his forehead and out of his face, messing it up contentedly.

“Yeah, and I think I’m gonna take a nap,” he shuts his eyes and makes a cute silly face at me.

“Alright, but don’t be surprised if all of the cookies are gone when I wake you up,” I don’t even think I’m joking.

Frank actually manages to doze off relatively quickly. I eat a cookie and go back to playing with his hair, wishing I had the foresight to bring my sketchbook so I could draw. The perspective from up here was amazing. Also Frank is pretty cute when he’s sleeping and I don’t have many opportunities to draw him when he’s sleeping. 

I spend the better of 10 minutes bird watching because you can only watch someone for so long before feeling creepy. I check the time periodically because I really don’t want Frank to be late because of me. So I press my lips to his forehead and shake him gently until he blinks sleepily at me for the second time today. 

“Time to go to hell?” he asks, rubbing his eyes and sitting up, tolerating me clutching to his arm so he doesn’t fall and perish on our second date. 

“Basically,” I grin as his next instinct is too shove more cookies in his mouth.

“Wonderful,” he slips over the edge where the slide is so he doesn’t fall to his demise. “

I edge over to the slide so I can get down; frank takes my hand to help balance me. Nevertheless, I lose balance, or maybe Frank slips, who knows, and I fall onto my butt with Frank falls on top of me. It’s probably the most painful and simultaneously amazing slide experience of my life. On one hand I’m sure my ass is going to be sore for a few days, but also I got the bonus of having Frank Iero lying on top of me, which sure that happened like last night too, but he’s giggling uncontrollably and it’s just nice. I would choose having Frank on me over anything else.

“Sorry,” I apologize profusely, as Frank pulls me up, though he keeps his arm around my waist. 

“No, no it’s fine. I think I tripped anyway. It was fun, but painful? Shoot no, that must’ve hurt. Are you okay?” Frank babbles and I want so badly to lean down to kiss him to shut him up.

Guess what I do.

I don’t kiss him right then because that’s a massive cliché and I would hate to have my life become a fanfiction or something. “I’m fine, Frank,” I do smile like an idiot at my over concerned boyfriend though. “But you’re going to have to sprint to school now.”

“Shit!” he pulls away for a second before cupping my face in his hands and placing a chaste kiss on my lips. He leaves me with three cookies, a racing heart, and a long walk home.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another smallish update. I think the next chapter will be longer though?

I’ve had a lot of time to think about the kiss and get out the fluttery feelings in my stomach through telling everything to Mikey and paying him in cookies. Though, it seems like Mikey would listen to me even if I didn’t offer him cookies in compensation. 

“Alright, so your first kiss?” Mikey asks.

“Well, with Frank, and also a guy. Do you remember Lindsey?” I answer. “I just- I just really like Frank.” I can’t form another coherent sentence about him so I give up. “But how’re things going with your serial killer dude?”

“Pete?” Mikey smiles a bit nervously and looks away from me. 

I nod. 

“Good.”

“Follow up question, did you get a boyfriend before me or?” I ask, because nothing makes Mikey smile like that. Sure unicorns are cool but that only makes him excited. This is a little Mona Lisa smile. He’s trying to hide his happiness. 

“No. No. Pete’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends,” he rushes to correct me. 

“Alright, cool. Are you inviting him over on Friday?” I hand him another cookie and he stuffs it in his face immediately, making it hard to answer, but nerves will make you forget important things for conversations like not to eat the whole world before you have to answer a question.

“I think so,” Mikey finally looks up at me, having gotten his poker face on.

I smile at him and he smiles a little, trying to maintain his stoic face. 

“But you have food right?” I hear a familiar voice, but it’s not Mikey, Frank, or my mom.

“People live in this house, why would we not?” I hear Frank’s voice and the door shutting. “Gee? Mikey? We’re here and we’re queer,” Frank announces, and then there’s a soft sound that resembles something like getting hit. “Okay, well most of us, one of us. Whatever.” 

“We’re also hungry,” I recognize him as Bob as soon as they round the corner into the kitchen.

“We have food,” I reply intelligently, already going to a cabinet to get some chips or something. I toss a bag to Bob who catches it with ease and opens the bag in a matter of seconds. Frank saunters over to me and bumps into my arm with his shoulder pretty roughly which I guess is a friendly enough greeting. 

“So, when do you guys want to start?” Ray asks, the only one of us that isn’t completely distracted by food or the presence of our boyfriend. Which I guess makes sense considering he’s got a guitar case and amp in hand.

“Now?” Mikey suggests.

“Now seems like a good time,” Frank agrees, and I nod.

Bob, however, may not agree. It’s difficult to tell when he’s stuffing his face with chips and speaking while chewing, “Mmmph.”

“Okay, so now it is?” I ask more than declare. 

Mikey takes over, somehow gaining more confidence than I have. “So everything’s in the garage. It’s an old drum set though so it might sound off, I don’t know. I’m not a drummer. I’ve gotta grab my bass and amp, so Gee you can take them there.”

Mikey and Frank head upstairs to grab their instruments and amps and I lead Ray and Bob into the garage, which is actually mostly empty. “Shit, do you need drumsticks?” I ask Bob, as he sits at the drum set, still eating chips. 

“No, I came kind of prepared,” he finally sets the bag of chips down, wiping his hands on his jeans aggressively before pulling drumsticks out of his ass or possibly his pockets. 

I go over to the mic stand, adjusting it to be my height, not my height from years ago when Mikey and I first decided we wanted to start a band. Ray already plugged in his amp and guitar and is tuning his guitar by ear. 

Frank and Mikey finally show up, both struggling with carrying their stuff so I take the amp from Mikey and Bob helps Frank. 

“Alright, so what song are we going to play like?” Frank asks. “Do we all happen to know the same song?” 

“Basket Case by Green Day?” I suggest, not knowing at all how much of a problem finding a song will be.

“I don’t know it exactly but we can pretend we know what we’re doing,” Bob decides.

Frank knows the song, which is part of the reason I suggested it. He starts the beginning, Ray joining in, and I pretty much miss my cue to start singing. We keep going anyway, and 2 things become clear. We need a lot of practice and I am not Billie Joe Armstrong. I don’t think I sound bad; I just have a completely different style. Then instrument wise, we just haven’t ever played together and don’t know this song so well. We’ve got potential and that’s what matters.

“Dude, you can really sing,” Bob comments.

I can’t help but beam at the compliment. 

We stand around awkwardly trying to think of another song to play, everyone “Gee, can you just start playing your song and we’ll join in with whatever sounds good?” 

“Oh, alright,” I get the keyboard set up. I hesitate to start and begin singing quietly, but playing with something that resembles confidence anyway. 

One by one they begin to join in and I slowly begin to gain confidence as the song progresses. It sounds pretty good for not having been written out except for my part. Of course we’d have to actually remember what we were playing and iron it out later. 

I finish the song and grin at my band, because maybe we can actually be a band. Maybe this’ll work out. 

“Gee, do you think you could sing my song?” Frank asks, strumming part of it lightly. 

“Uh, yeah, I don’t know all of the words so you’d have to sing most of it but,” I shrug.

“Okay. Just join in with whatever,” Frank tells everyone, and he starts the song. 

I can recall most of the words, because I may or may not have gone home that day and replayed our exchange dozens of times in my head. Ray join in on guitar, then Bob, then Mikey and Frank is singing with me, maybe standing a little closer than necessary, but that’s completely fine with me. 

After that song we play for a while longer, trying to come up with songs we all know, and failing a little bit. So we all end up sitting down and absentmindedly strumming. “We could write a song?” I suggest. “Or maybe not today.” 

Franks nods, “I’m too tried to actually come up with anything good today.”

“So are we done then?” Bob asks. 

“I guess,” I shrug. Mikey nods.

“But like, if you have time before Friday try to write out your parts to our two songs,” Frank suggests.  
Ray nods, “We could also all learn a song like, I wanna be sedated by the ramones?”

“Sounds good,” Mikey agrees. 

“Okay, cool,” Frank smiles. 

We end up eating dinner together, which ends up being a few frozen pizzas that we pop into the oven and let everyone but Frank cut them. It turns out Ray can cut pizzas like nobody’s business; Bob isn’t perfect, but whatever; and Mikey is a mess. Frank and I share a meaningful look over this information. We eat and talk about where we want the band to go, but none of us really know at the point.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha I finally wrote more

Friday comes around quickly, as things tend to do when they are much anticipated. 

Mikey is very anxious. He’s been pacing back and forth in the kitchen for hours, because Pete’s going to be here. He won’t admit that that’s the reason why, but that’s the only thing I can think of that would make him this uneasy. 

Frank and I decided that tonight would be a bonding night just to have fun and watch movies, and Frank then relayed the information to Ray and Bob. Mikey, Frank, and I then decided that pizza is good and so are chips and ice cream. We’d look for movies on Netflix or my collection and have instruments out just in case we get really bored.

I’m sitting on the island while Mikey paces and works on not hyperventilating. “It’ll be fine, man. Just hanging out with friends. If worst comes to worst I’ll help you hide the bodies,” I try to soothe Mikey.

He manages to crack a smile and I ruffle his hair as he passes by, which earns me a glare. 

Then the door bell rings and while I rise to get the door, a bit nervously, Mikey hides. Getting to the door, I end up finding someone I don’t know, a little dude with lots of eyeliner and fringe. Not one to be deterred by the threat of being murdered, I open the door. “Hey, I’m hoping you’re Pete?”

“Yup, I’m hoping you’re Gerard?” He replies, smiling widely and shouldering the book bag he’s carrying.

“That’d be me,” I return the smile and motion for him to come inside. “Mikey’s here somewhere.”

Pete nods and comes in, looking around for Mikey, who appears after a moment. Mikey smiles nervously, “Hi…”

Pete’s face lights up and this makes Mikey smile more genuinely. “Hey, Mikes!”

“You can just put your bag down wherever,” I inform Pete, going to grab myself something to drink just as the opens and in pops my energetic puppy of a boyfriend. 

“Hey, Gee,” He bumps into me with his shoulder as he passes by to toss his bag onto the floor by the couch. “Hey, Mikey and company.”

“Oh, er, this is Pete,” Mikey introduces awkwardly, while Pete kind of leans against him, smiling.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Frank. Uh, are you two…?” He trails of, implying the whole dating thing.  
Mikey blushes fiercely, “No, we- No.”

Pete’s smile falters briefly, due to how quickly Mikey denies that they are a thing. I almost pity him. “We’re not dating, no,” he recovers his easy smile quickly. 

“Oh, okay, sorry,” Frank makes a little ‘whoops’ face and moves on from the awkwardness. “So you’re spending the night?” He slowly makes his way back to me, standing near me but not Pete Wentz close. 

“Yeah, if that’s okay?” 

Mikey nods vigorously so I answer with, “Yup, definitely man. Stay as long as you want. Frank’s been staying with us for like the past week?”

“Yeah, I’m a total bum,” Frank giggles.

I raise my eyebrows at bum and he bumps his hip into my thigh. I completely lose my balance and fall into the counter. Cool. “Heeey,” I complain. 

Frank shrugs, not even helping me stand up again, and conversation continues to happen. 

Soon enough we’re all munching on pizza and watching a lame horror movie, Ray and Bob finally have gotten here.

Frank’s got his legs over my lap, casually sitting on me. Pete not so subtly is lying with his head in Mikey’s lap, possibly falling asleep, while Mikey is petting his head absentmindedly while focusing his attention on the movie. Ray and Bob are sat on the couch with 0 physical contact, which is fine. 

“I’m hungry,” Frank complains, making a really fucking adorable face at me.

“Mmm, me too,” I nod in agreement.

“Wanna make pizza?” he asks hopefully, patting my leg enthusiastically.

“Nope,” I snort because I am so lazy that I will not eat unless someone else decides to make the food. 

Frank tries to amplify his cuteness, pouting a little. “But Geeee…”

“I said nah son,” I pat his head though. 

“I’ll do it,” Ray saves the day, or night rather. 

“Thanks, mom,” Bob jokes, as Ray goes to literally just turn the oven on and pop some frozen pizzas into the oven. 

Frank pokes my belly and I make an unhappy noise. “What?” 

“You’re so lazy,” Frank informs me, but not in the accusing tone I would typically get from my mom, or the mildly disappointed and sad voice Mikey would use to point that out. He’s teasing me.

“Yeah, I’m depressed and it’s difficult for me to motivate myself, but…” I pause to poke his chest, changing my tone from serious to playful. “You didn’t try to get up and make the pizza. You just asked me and gave up. You’re so lazy, you dork.” I poke him again and he giggles. “Plus, you’re sitting on me and that’s more fun than getting up to make foods.”

That’s enough to get him to actually sit on my lap, rather than him just having his legs over mine. He sits with his legs perpendicular to mine, but twisted at the waist so he’s facing me, but hugging me around the neck. “True, true,” he doesn’t even try to deny it. 

Bob’s the first to notice our lack of personal space. “Frank, what are you doing?” 

“The right thing,” Frank replies without missing a beat, before knocking me to the ground and using me as a pillow. 

I make a noise like “Eeeehhhhaaah” in protest of this change, because I was not expecting it and I prefer having Frank on my lap, but still. 

Frank squeezes my hand probably in apology but whatever. We continue to watch the movie with me now sprawled out on the ground and Frank’s head on my stomach. 

Ray soon announces that the pizza is ready, and surprisingly enough, Pete is up first. He is really enthusiastic about pizza. I mean, who isn’t? But he gets up particularly quickly while Mikey follows behind him, like the tiny nervous kid he is. When Frank finally gets off of me and I can get up, I nudge Mikey with my shoulder.

“How’re you doing, Mikes?” 

“Pretty good,” Mikey smiles a little, which turns into a real smile when Pete catches his eye.

“Good,” I’m just happy that he’s happy, and so I enter a conversation with the rest of my band about how school is actually over now, which means we should be writing songs and booking gigs and becoming an actual band. It’s scary yet exciting that that’s were my future is headed.   
Maybe Frank and I will rent a little apartment and watch lame horror movies every night while falling asleep. That’s when we aren’t touring with the band, of course. I make a mental note to talk to Frank about that tonight when everyone leaves or is asleep. 

Until then, we all go back to watching the movie and eating pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had trouble figuring out how to write this chapter but I actually feel like I could make the next chapter work well and then have a nice ending for this at some point. Cool.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops this chapter isn't as long as I wanted it to be but it's nice. Whatever

Ray is the first to leave because he actually has a moral compass and is responsible. Apparently he has a thing to do with his family tomorrow, but he’ll text us later so we can schedule another band practice. 

Bob technically leaves at the same time because Ray is his ride, but he didn’t want or need to. 

The gay becomes more than a little more noticeable once they leave. It’s not that I don’t think Ray and Bob would take the fact that we aren’t straight well, I just don’t feel like they have to know about our relationship immediately. So we’re a bit less obvious when they’re around. Also it makes me a little nervous to be intimate with someone, especially if there are other people around.

Pete’s spending the night because I said so. Pete’s falling asleep in Mikey’s lap and Mikey’s falling asleep on Pete, so I take the initiative to let him spend the night. When I speak up, Mikey gives me a happy look, so I assume it’s all good. 

We’re all sprawled out on the ground in front of the TV, waiting for the movie to end so we can call it a night and go to bed to sleep or otherwise. Frank plays with my hair absentmindedly; I try not to let myself fall asleep to his comforting touch, I’d like to talk to him tonight; Pete and Mikey are pretty much asleep on each other. 

I give up on the movie we’re watching. “Okay, kiddos, I think it’s time for bed,” I announce, getting up to turn the movie off. 

Nobody complains. Frank gets up and stretches sleepily. Mikey pokes Pete until he’s awake, but unhappily so, until Mikey explains that they’re going to bed. They get up, say goodnight, and disappear into Mikey’s room. 

“I’m sleepy,” Frank pipes up, still standing in the same spot, rubbing his eyes. 

“That’s why we’re going to bed,” I bump into him lightly while walking towards our room because his eyes are closed and I want him to know I’m going without bothering him. He takes a second to catch up with me and grab my hand. We walk back to our room silently. Frank plops onto the bed while I begin to undress because I don’t particularly fancy sleeping in skinny jeans. 

“Gee?” Frank asks softly while I’m struggling to get my jeans off without falling over.

“Yeah?” I didn’t fall over. Hell yeah. I can get dressed by my self. I put my pajama pants on without a problem.

“School’s over. What the heck am I going to do now? What are we going to do?” Frank looks straight into my eyes, with his nervous and sleepy eyes.

“You’re going to do whatever the fuck you want to do. You’re free now,” I inform him, while flopping down next to him. He wriggles out of his jeans and is either to lazy to get up to get pajama pants or doesn’t care because of the huge realization he’s having about how much responsibility he’s going to finally have over his life. “We could find a crappy apartment to live in, try to get jobs somewhere like a record shop or something, then like try to make the band happen and be happy?” 

Frank nods and sighs. “That sounds nice, yeah.” He gets under the covers and makes grabby hands at me, so I snuggle up next to him, resting a closed fist on his side. He hugs me tightly, his right arm acting as my pillow and his left hand on my waist. “We probably should’ve gotten jobs so we’d have money to move out as soon as possible…”

I blow more air out of my nose than usual in an almost laugh, like oops planning something would’ve been a good idea. “Yeah, probably. I mean… I have some money from commissions for drawings and stuff but… Maybe we could make a really cheap apartment work if we get jobs immediately and don’t have to pay too soon?”

Frank nods, “Yeah, we’ll deal with it. How’re we going to find an apartment?”

“Uh, maybe we know someone who knows someone? We’ll ask around. I don’t know…” I open my hand that’s resting on his side and trace my fingers up and down his side very lightly, barely moving at all. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“I’m worried,” He sighs, looking at me with a furrowed brow. 

I pat his cheek. “It’ll be okay. We’ll work things out later. Things will be a-okay soon.” I run my hand back through his hair and just caress his cheek and try to be something resembling soothing.

He nods, not looking too convinced, but after a brief period of me just playing with his hair and touching him he closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. “Okay,” he’s beginning to smile slightly. “Okay, I believe you.” He opens his eyes slowly and sleepily and I can fucking see how affectionate he is for me and I die a bit more than a little bit. 

I’m smiling back when he kisses me softly on the lips, holding me at my waist with one hand, but not pulling me closer. This, unfortunately or not, is not going to be a heated makeout session. He pulls away and smiles some more then kisses the tip of my nose. “Goodnight, Gerard.”

“Night, Frankie,” My brain isn’t working. He’s too cute. My only thought is something along the lines of ‘wow, I’m so in love.’ 

Frank then proceeds to move around a ton, flipping over onto his side with his back to me, so we’re spooning. I do the thing where my arm becomes his pillow and he scoots his butt back so we can be closer. I hook my arm around his waist and pull his hips against mine, but like not sexually, just in the hopes of being as physically close as possible.

“I love you, Gee,” Frank murmurs sleepily. 

My heart still doesn’t flutter. I’m incapable of having the simply hormone driven feelings, instead, a thick contentedness spreads throughout my body, and I’m not sure if the new warmth is from Frank or the beginning happiness. 

Frank snores softly and not so soon, I too doze off.


End file.
